


I Will Buy You A New Life

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Developing Relationship, Eventual Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mystery, New Beginnings, Oral Sex, Prison, Uncertainty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 88
Words: 87,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock offers to help Will prove his innocence and get out of prison, Will has no idea that it will lead to an entirely new life -- and to finding love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proven Innocent

"You didn't do this, Mr. Graham."

Will stared at the tall, thin man standing in front of his cell. "How can you be so sure? There's a lot of evidence. I didn't think I did it at first, but you know, I _could_ have. All that lost time .... I could be a murderer and not even know it."

It was true. though he hated to admit it. He _could_ have committed those murders. There was no telling what he'd done when he'd had encephalitis.

It had literally driven him crazy. He might be all right now, but the fact remained that no one could account for all of his missing time when he'd been ill. And all of the evidence _did_ point directly to him, though, of course, it could have been manufactured.

He'd been so sure for a while that Hannibal had done just that, for some reason. But now, he wasn't so sure any more. It didn't _feel_ right.

He wasn't sure of Hannibal, or of himself. He wasn't sure of anything around him any more. He was only sure that he was where he belonged. If he _had_ gone crazy and committed those murders, then he _should_ be here, behind bars.

He didn't want to be here, but at the moment, he had no choice.

Sherlock stared at Will, those pale eyes unblinking. "I don't believe that you did this. I believe that you were framed, to put you into jail and get you out of the way."

"Why would anybody do that?" Will argued, not wanting to see Sherlock's point. "I'm no use to anybody in here. Jack Crawford can get more use out of me out there, catching criminals. Nobody else would want me in jail. That's a crazy idea."

"You're an experiment, Mr. Graham," Sherlock said softly. "Someone is using you as a guinea pig. They're keeping you under observations, to see just when you'll crack under the pressure."

Will was taken aback by those matter-of-fact words.

Could Sherlock Holmes be right? _Had_ someone cleverly framed him so that he would end up being trapped here, and they could study his actions?

Nobody would do something that crazy. Or would they? He didn't want to think that Hannibal would be so manipulative -- or that someone he considered his friend would put him in this kind of position. But he was forced to consider the possibility.

Had his initial impression been right? _Was_ Hannibal the Chesapeake Ripper -- and had he made sure that Will landed in jail to keep him from working the case?

He didn't know. He wasn't sure of anything any more. He needed help -- and maybe he could get that help from the man standing here in front of him.

Sherlock Holmes was one of the smartest people in the world, so people said. He was a genius. And he'd solved so many crime that people had said were unsolvable. If anyone could help Will, he could. If he would agree to do it.

"Would you ..." he began, staring at the other man. But Sherlock shook his head, a slight smile on his lips, holding up a hand to stop Will in mid-sentence.

"I've already taken the case," he said. "Free of charge."

"Thank you," Will said softly, knowing that there was nothing else to say. "I don't know if I could repay you, anyway. I don't have a job any more."

"You'll be out of here soon enough, and then you can find another job," Sherlock told him briskly. "Even if not to the government here. Scotland Yard is always looking for good detectives. I think you would be invaluable there, if you would consider it."

Consider it? Now that he was sure he had no future with the FBI here in America, he would do a lot more than consider it. He would jump at that kind of an offer.

But first, he had to be proven innocent and get out of here.

He nodded, swallowing back the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. This man believed in him, for some odd reason. Sherlock was going to help him. It made him feel humbled to realize that he had someone on his side, someone who wanted to help him.

It made him feel less alone. It made him feel as though there was some hope for getting out of this awful situation, and for clearing his name.

He didn't want to believe that he'd killed anyone. He didn't want to think that he was capable of those kinds of atrocities. It didn't seem like him. It didn't _feel_ like him. But when the encephalitis had been taking over his mind and body, who knew what he could have done?

Still, he wasn't going to think of himself as being guilty. Not yet. Not until there was incontrovertible proof, and he _had_ to believe that he was a killer.

"Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it seem as though you're a killer, Will," Sherlock said softly, using Will's given name for the first time. "I intend to prove that you're not, to prove them wrong. And you will walk out of here a free man, into a new life."

Sherlock made it sound so good. So easy.

It wouldn't be easy. Will knew that. But Sherlock would help him. He already felt a kinship with this man, a bond that he was sure would become stronger over time.

He couldn't say anything; his throat felt as though it had closed up. He merely nodded, giving Sherlock a small smile that was was quickly returned. As he looked into those pale eyes, Will couldn't help feeling that he could somehow see a future there -- a future he hadn't expected to have.


	2. Answer To A Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has given Will a spark of hope -- something that no one else has tried to do for him.

Hope. That's what Sherlock was offering him. Hope, when before, he'd had none. It was a spark, a light at the end of a very long tunnel.

He needed that hope. He needed it more than he had ever needed anything. He'd prayed to have this kind of hope held out to him, but he had never thought he would receive it. Sherlock was a blessing, the answer to every prayer he'd sent up.

Will didn't really believe in prayer. He never had, not since he was a child. But now, he was sending out any kind of prayer he could to think of to any deity who might listen.

He needed to believe. He needed to hope.

If Sherlock could help him, if he could somehow make sense of the mess that Will had gotten himself into, then maybe, just maybe, he could walk out of this place a free man. Maybe he would never have to look back, and this could become just a vague memory.

It would be just another nightmare he'd suffered through, just one of the many others that he'd been plagued with for these past few months.

He'd lived with them for far too long, until they'd almost become a part of him.

Will hated those nightmares. He hated waking in a cold sweat, wondering what was real and what was fantasy, feeling that he was losing his mind.

But at this point, those nightmares beckoned to him, almost seductive in their intensity. He didn't know how to make them go away, or how to turn away from them.

He had prayed for those nightmares to stop, and they hadn't.

Maybe now they could. Maybe now he finally had something to hold on to, something solid, something _real_ in his life. A spark of hope.

If Sherlock was going to hold out that hope to him, then he wasn't going to turn away from it. No, he was going to grasp it and hold on for dear life, never letting go. He would hold on to that spark until it died away -- or until it led him through the darkness to freedom.

Freedom. Being out of this place. That was all he wanted.

That was what he had prayed for, every night since he'd been here. He had started to think that his prayers would never be answered, that he was alone and abandoned.

Sherlock had given him a hand to cling to, a steady rock in sea of uncertainty. That was what he had prayed for, and it was something that no one else had offered to him. Everyone else had pulled away, but this man hadn't. This man was going to help him.

Will closed his eyes, feeling hope rise within him. Sherlock was like the answer to a prayer. Will could only hope that was what he was, and let that hope give him strength.


	3. Overwhleming Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has never been this attracted to anyone before, and he's not sure how to deal with what he's feeling.

Sherlock made his way out of the prison, feeling more than a little unsettled. He had agreed to take on this case, but now, he felt more than just a professional interest.

He hadn't thought that seeing Will Graham with his own eyes, being so close to him, would affect him in such a way. He hadn't realized how beautiful the man was; the picture that he'd seen hadn't done Will justice at all. He wasn't just beautiful; he was incandescent.

He was the most attractive man Sherlock had ever met.

He shouldn't even think of becoming involved with someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a client. It could only lead to disaster in the end.

Still, this was an attraction he couldn't deny. He hadn't felt anything this strong before in his life; when he had been standing there in front of Will's jail cell, he had wanted to reach out and touch the other man. He'd forced himself to keep his hands in his coat pockets.

He had never wanted anyone like this. In truth, he had never wanted _anyone_. He'd never felt an attraction to any other person, male or female.

But he was attracted to Will Graham, so strongly that he had felt a tremor throughout his entire body, and he had wanted to reach out and .... _feel_. Touching Will had felt like something he _had_ to do; his hands had almost reached out of their own volition.

What would Will had done if he'd been touched? Would he have pulled away, horrified? Or would he have accepted that touch, needed it?

Did Will need someone in his life? Would Sherlock fill a void for him?

He had the impression that Will had been a very lonely man, even before he'd ended up in jail. Sherlock didn't like to think of someone so lovely being alone.

He was a lonely man himself, Sherlock reflected. Maybe he was simply looking for someone -- anyone -- to assuage that loneliness. But he didn't think so. It wasn't as though other people had the same effect on him that Will Graham did.

That effect had been completely out of left field; he hadn't expected to feel such an attraction. It had shaken him up to the point where he'd hardly known what he was saying.

He had as good as offered Will a place in London.

Well, what of it? he asked himself. He didn't doubt that Lestrade would welcome someone like Will to the Yard. His abilities could be very useful there.

But that wasn't the only reason he'd held out that offer, was it? he thought with a sigh. No, he'd done so because he couldn't bear the thought of solving this case, watching Will walk out of jail a free man -- and then going back to Britain and never seeing him again.

He wanted Will Graham in his life. He wanted this man in his life as more than a case, more than someone who needed his help in a professional way.

Maybe it was wrong to want Will so badly. Maybe he would have his heart broken. Maybe he would be sorely disappointed. But he didn't think so.

For once in his life, he wanted to be a little mad. He wanted to hold out his heart, and hope that it would be taken up, treasured and cherished. And he wanted to cherish someone else's heart in the same way. He wanted Will Graham to hold out his heart.

He wanted to take that heart and hold it in his hands, cradle it close to him, keep it safe and warm and happy. He wanted to let himself love, for the first time in his life.

It was mad. It was foolish. But for once, he didn't care.

He had never let himself follow his heart before. Truth be told, he'd never had feelings for anyone before, not in the romantic sense. Some people didn't think he _had_ a heart.

But the way he felt now was proof enough that he did. The heart that beat so strongly and steadily in his chest had reached out for Will Graham, wanted to twine itself around him, protect him, hold him and tell him that it would all work out in the end.

Of course, he knew that he shouldn't offer that kind of platitude. But he was determined to make this work out; he was going to find out who had framed Will.

He didn't believe for one moment that Will Graham was a killer.

Those blue eyes, that candid gaze, couldn't belong to a cold-blooded murderer. He couldn't bring himself to believe that Will could kill anyone, no matter what others might think.

It didn't matter that other people thought they might know Will better than he did; Sherlock had the definite feeling that Will didn't let people close enough to him for them to know him as they thought they did. They had a skewered impression of who he was.

Sherlock, however, didn't see Will under the veils that they did. He could look at this man -- and this case -- with fresh eyes, the eyes of an outsider.

But those eyes wouldn't be so unbiased if he acted on his attraction to Will, he thought with a sigh. Still, he wasn't sure if he could hold back that attraction. It was too immediate, too strong, too overwhelming. He didn't know how to stop it from coming through.

He would have to try to keep it under control, at least until the case was solved and Will could walk out of that prison a free man.

After that .... well, then anything was possible.

That thought made Sherlock smile. Yes, anything was possible. The future was wide open, and for once, he was going to do what he wanted and not try to over-think the issue. He was going to throw himself in, and he would sink or swim on his own merits.

With that thought in mind, he picked up his pace, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He had some ideas, and he wanted this case solved as quickly as possible.


	4. Like Falling in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wonders just what this new sensation he's feeling could possibly be.

Will Graham hadn't committed those murders. Sherlock didn't yet know who had, but he was certain that Will had been cleverly framed.

There was just something about this entire case that didn't feel right. Will might think that it was possible for him to be a murderer, but Sherlock didn't think so. In spite of the blackouts and lost time, he didn't believe for a moment that the man he'd met was a killer.

His feelings had nothing to do with the fact that Will Graham was the most attractive he'd ever met. No, not at all. That was entirely secondary.

Entirely. It had no bearing on the case.

Except that it did, he thought with a sigh. He was having a hard time keeping his personal feelings out of this case. Maybe it had been a mistake to visit Will in jail so early on in the case, but it was something he'd had to do. He'd had to meet the man for himself.

He hadn't expected to be so strongly attracted to Will. But then, he hadn't expected Will to have a face like a ravaged angel and an aura of helplessness.

He hadn't thought that he would feel so protective of someone he'd just met. And he certainly hadn't thought that he would want to sweep Will into his arms and ravage those lips with his own until Will moaned his name and begged for more.

That hadn't been on his agenda at all. His own feelings had overwhelmed him, taken him by surprise. They had come completely out of the blue.

The strange thing was, he didn't want to stop them.

He had never let himself become so caught up in a case before that he couldn't separate his own personal feelings from the facts. This was a first.

Was this was falling in love was like? This desire that he couldn't control, that swept over him whenever he thought of Will or brought the other man's face to his mind? Was this what it was like to lose one's heart -- and to not want it back?

It was exhilarating. And at the same time, it was frightening, as well as confusing. Sherlock wasn't sure of what he felt, or of what he _should_ feel.

He'd never fallen in love before.

He had nothing to compare this feeling to, nothing that he could measure it with. It was something entirely new to him, something that had taken him unawares.

But it was also something he wanted to keep feeling, Sherlock told himself firmly. He didn't want to let this feeling die away; it was too fresh, too exciting. And it was something that seemed to wrap around his heart and give him some meaning in his life.

Before he had met Will Graham face to face, there had been nothing in his life but his work. Will made him feel that there was a chance for .... something more in his life.

What that something was, he didn't know exactly. Did he want to let Will into his life and into his heart? Was he willing to take that kind of a risk?

After all, he didn't know Will. He could be entirely wrong about his assessment of the other man; behind that beautiful face, there could lurk the soul of a killer. But Sherlock didn't think so. That wasn't at all the impression he'd gotten from Will.

Will might not believe in himself, but he needed someone to believe in him. And Sherlock was sure that he filled that need admirably.

Yes. He believed in Will Graham. In his innocence, and in his innate goodness.

He couldn't _not_ believe in Will. There was simply something about the young man that tugged at him, that drew him like a moth to a flame.

Sherlock couldn't put his finger on just what that feeling was, and he didn't need to. For now, it was enough for him to know that he needed to help Will, that he needed to hold out a hand and give him hope. He could do that. Time enough later for more than that.

At this point, he simply had to find out who had framed Will, and make sure that they took his place behind bars. He needed to get Will out of jail.

Whatever might happen after that was up to fate.

This had been a masterful frame-up job, Sherlock thought, frowning as he studied the machine that Will used to make his homemade fishing lures. It hadn't been dusted for prints; he could see that clearly. Someone had been remiss in their job.

He hadn't done such a thing in a long time, but he _did_ know how to dust for prints. And it seemed that was the first thing he needed to do.

Sherlock was convinced that the person who had framed Will would have left their fingerprints here, on this machine -- after all, they had been the one who had taken the hair samples from the victims and woven them into Will's lures.

It might not be easy to convince the FBI that someone else had done that. But if he had fingerprints as proof, the case against Will would be much weaker.

He was determined to prove Will innocent.

That wouldn't sit well with whoever had done this, Sherlock thought wryly. They had gone to great lengths to put Will behind bars. But he _would_ catch them.

And for now, he would push this strange new sensation, the one that his mind told him was just like falling in love, to the side. There was time enough to think about that feeling later, to deal with it on his own terms, and to figure out just what he was experiencing.

If it was love, then he would take that in his stride as best he could. But for the moment, there were more important things for him to put his mind to.


	5. Feels Like the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't quite understand why he feels such an attraction to Sherlock, but he isn't going to turn away from it.

He wanted to see Sherlock again.

No, he didn't just _want_ it -- he _needed_ it, Will thought as he paced his small cell. He needed to have Sherlock in front of him again, talking to him, gesturing with those graceful hands, those pale eyes locking with his.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking of Sherlock during his waking hours, or dreaming of him at night. And those dreams had taken on a _very_ sexual nature.

That bothered him somewhat; he'd never had dreams about anyone that were so vivid, so .... _real_. It had been as though Sherlock was there in the room with him, as though the man was a living, breathing being and not simply a wisp of a dream.

He wanted to grasp at that dream before it could escape, to hold on to it before it disappeared into the mists of the night before. But it was impossible.

It was hard to bring Sherlock's face into his mind, even though in dreams, he had no problem doing so. He was really starting to lose it if he couldn't remember what someone he'd seen only two days ago looked like, Will told himself ruefully.

He needed to look into those eyes again, to fix that face firmly in his mind's eye.

Was he only imagining that Sherlock was so handsome, so attractive? Was his memory going faulty just because he so desperately wanted and needed a friend?

No, friendship wasn't what he felt, he told himself. Sherlock made him feel as though his skin was too tight for his body, as though he wanted to leap out of that skin and wrap himself around the other man, as though he wanted to become part of Sherlock.

No, he didn't feel friendship. What he felt was good old-fashioned _lust_. He _wanted_ Sherlock, and that in itself was almost frightening.

He had never _wanted_ anyone before. Never.

The thought of being intimate with someone, with anyone, had always terrified him. He had always been so sure that he was destined to spend his life alone, that he didn't belong in a relationship. It was hard for him to even make friends, let alone consider physical intimacy.

But Sherlock made him want that. Sherlock had changed everything about the way he thought about being intimate, without even touching him.

All he'd had to do was look at Will, talk to him, and it felt as though the world had turned upside down and inside out. All he could think about was that deep, sexy voice, those slender, graceful hands, the way those lips had moved when Sherlock spoke.

Did he have a _crush_ on this man? Was that it?

He didn't want to think of it as just a crush. He wanted to believe that it was something more, but he had no proof that Sherlock could have possibly felt the same way.

Sherlock made his senses come alive, made his body burn in a way that he most definitely wasn't used to. No one else had ever made him feel like that before -- and with nothing more than a glance, less than an hour of standing there talking to him.

 _There_ , Will told himself, staring at the chair outside of his cell. He'd been sitting there, gesturing, talking, only a few feet away.

So close -- and yet, still so far away. For a man who was behind bars and might be there for the rest of his life, a person on the other side was unreachable.

No, he wasn't going to be here for much longer, Will told himself, trying to keep his inner voice strong and firm. Sherlock would get him out of here. Sherlock would find a way to prove his innocence. Sherlock believed in him, even if no one else did.

Maybe that was why he felt so strongly for this man. Maybe it was only because Sherlock was willing to help him when no one else wanted to.

Will sighed softly, closing his eyes. No, it was more than that. Much more.

Who was he kidding? He wasn't just feeling a momentary lust. He could feel in his bones, in his heart, in his soul, that this was something meaningful. Something that could blossom and grow and last forever, if he could have the chance to make it begin.

Of course, he had no idea if Sherlock even liked men. There had been no indication of that; Sherlock might not even be gay. He might be repulsed by Will's feelings.

But Will didn't think so. There had been a kinship between them; he couldn't help feeling that Sherlock had been just as attracted to him, even though the other man hadn't shown him outwardly that he was. He could simply _feel_ it.

There was a connection between them, one that ran deep and true.

Will couldn't say just how he knew that, but he did. It was something in the way that Sherlock had looked at him, the way that his voice had sounded.

There _was_ something between them. What he felt wasn't just the result of an immediate physical attraction, just unbridled lust felt by a man who had been too long without contact. It was something that had hit him like running into a brick wall.

He had never felt anything like this before. And he was willing to bet that Sherlock hadn't, either, and that the other man was aching as much as he was.

The problem was having the ability to assuage that ache.

They'd never be able to be together unless Sherlock managed to find a way to get him out of here, to find the person who had so cleverly set him up. Will had his suspicions about who that person was, but he had no proof whatsoever to back them up.

If anyone could find that proof, it was Sherlock. He knew the other man's reputation; he had to trust that it was deserved, and that Sherlock could help him.

Will didn't know if this attraction would blossom into something more once Sherlock managed to get him out of here, but if it did, then he wouldn't turn it away. He desperately wanted that; he wanted to be with Sherlock, as more than merely friends.

But if it didn't happen, if Sherlock wasn't interested in him in that way, then at least he would have a friend. And he needed all the friends he could get.

He wanted Sherlock as more than a friend. It disconcerted him a little to think that he wanted this man as his lover, but that was the gist of it. That was something he'd have to take a while to wrap his head around. Though somehow, the thought didn't feel odd.

It felt right. And for some reason, it felt like his future.


	6. His Secret Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't keep the secrets of his heart hidden any longer when he gazes into Will's intense blue eyes.

Sherlock stood in front of Will's cell, hands clasped behind his back.

"I know who did it," Sherlock told Will, gazing at the other man through the bars of his prison cell. "It only remains to gather a bit more evidence. He's covered his tracks carefully, but I'll find it. And he'll be taking your place here."

He wished that he had better news to tell Will. He wished that he could simply whisk Will away out of this place, and not have to present evidence of who had actually committed the crime. But these idiots seemed so reluctant to accept Will's innocence.

With any other prisoner, they would have accepted Sherlock's evidence. But they wanted to be sure they could replace Will with someone else.

Why were they so eager to keep Will locked up?

Sherlock didn't really have to ask himself that question. He knew why. The guilty party, the man who had committed those murders and was responsible for Will being here, was making sure that he stayed here, like a rat trapped in a cage.

He wanted to _study_ Will, to see the effects of incarceration on him, to push him ever closer to the point of madness as some kind of _experiment_.

The very thought made Sherlock seethe with anger. Will didn't belong here; that bastard did. Hannibal Lecter should be the one behind those bars; he should be the one suffering the effects of being kept captive, of having his freedom taken away from him.

He was going to prove that Lecter was behind this. He already had the evidence, but of course, Lecter's friends and colleagues didn't want to acknowledge it.

No, of course they didn't. They wanted to keep Will locked up, to believe that an innocent man was capable of such brutality. They would do anything to protect their precious Lecter; they were all afraid of him, so terrified not to dance to his piping.

Well, Sherlock wasn't afraid of him. Sherlock would be his undoing.

Will nodded, sighing softly. Sherlock's heart went out of him; he wished more than anything that he could take Will out of here.

Was he being too obvious about that? Was he wearing his heart on his sleeve, letting his secret heart show in a way that he never had before? He'd always been able to keep that heart from being on view in the past, though it had never been involved like this before.

He had always been able to keep his impassive mask in place, to distance himself from his cases. Before this, he'd never let himself care too much.

But things had changed when he'd taken on Will Graham's case.

His impassivity had vanished, as well as his impartiality. He hadn't been able to push his own feelings aside and merely concentrate on the case.

Will had burrowed his way into Sherlock's heart and soul, and there he would stay. Even if he were to find out that Will wasn't gay, that he had no interest in men, Sherlock knew that Will Graham would be a part of his heart forever. He would always have a place there.

He hadn't wanted that. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't thought that this case would engaged his heart even more than his mind.

But it wasn't unwelcome. He wasn't turning away from it.

It was terrifying, in a way, he was making himself vulnerable, and he was well aware of that. But such a vulnerability also gave him a certain strength and conviction, and he somehow felt that they bolstered him, buoyed him up and made him feel .... protected.

For the first time in his life, he was opening his heart.

He'd never dared to do this before. He'd never wanted to. He'd never even considered opening his heart and letting someone walk through it.

But now that he'd done so, now that he had accepted the reality of his feelings for Will, he wasn't going to turn back. He was going to embrace those feelings, to let them take him over, to wrap themselves around him and envelop him.

It was hard to know where to start; he'd never felt anything like this before, and he had nothing to go on. No experience at all in following his heart.

But he would learn. He was determined to learn.

He wanted to open his secret heart to Will, to fling those doors wide open and let Will walk inside. He was going to put his heart on the line.

It was frightening, and at the same time, it was exhilarating. Sherlock had always felt that he was apart from others, always on the outside looking in, like the child with his nose pressed to the window watching the happy family behind the glass.

He had always thought that he would never find anyone to love -- or anyone to love him. He had long ago resigned him to thinking that he wasn't meant for love.

But Will Graham gave him hope.

Will made him feel that he _was_ capable of loving -- and of being loved. He had never seen himself in that light before, and he liked it.

He liked visualizing himself as being the sort of person who could attract a lover, someone who wanted him not only for his famous name, or what they perceived as an attractive face and body, but someone who saw him for who he was, who saw and loved the man inside.

He wanted someone who could see behind the masks he wore, someone who would treasure his secret heart and keep it safe and protected.

Sherlock was sure that Will Graham was that person.

He didn't doubt that Will had often felt the same as he had -- a lonely man who was always an outsider. He could feel that kinship in Will, feel that the other man wanted to reach out, but was afraid of rejection. Well, this time, he wouldn't be rejected.

He didn't just want Will -- he _needed_ him. He needed that contact between them, needed to feel Will's heart touch his own.

He'd often wondered if that was how Watson had felt about him -- but he had never been able to feel that way about his friend. There was nothing between himself and John but friendship, and never would be. And anyway, John was married now. He'd found happiness.

And left Sherlock without a partner in his crime-solving, which had been annoying. But it had been time for them to go their separate ways.

Now, Will was in his life -- or would be, once he managed to secure the proof that he needed to get the young man out of jail. He should have enough proof already, but these idiots were determined to keep Will behind bars, for what reason, Sherlock didn't know.

They were probably afraid of him.

Of jealous of him, Sherlock thought with a soft sigh. He really wouldn't be surprised at that. Someone as brilliant as Will was bound to have enemies -- and the very people who had used him for their own ends and played upon his feelings of friendship were the worst of those.

But he would rescue Will, Sherlock vowed. He would get him out of prison, then the two of them would go to London and get Will far away from this place.

Will looked at him, not speaking, those bright blue eyes locked with his own. Sherlock couldn't look away for several long moments; he knew that his secret heart was showing in his gaze, but he couldn't hold back his feelings. They were determined to break through.

"Thank you," Will whispered, his gaze seeming to wrap itself around Sherlock's heart. "Thank you for giving me hope. Thank you for helping me to believe."

In that moment, the feelings held in his secret heart were no longer secrets.


	7. What Does It Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is angered by people who seem determined to frame Will.

Sherlock wanted to stomp his way out of Jack Crawford's office, but he forced himself to walk normally, even though his hands were clenched at his sides. Really, what did it take to make that smarmy, self-satisfied idiot see the light?

He had presented Crawford with incontrovertible proof that Will had not committed those murders. Yet the stupid, complacent man refused to release Will from jail.

The only reason he wouldn't, Sherlock reflected, was because he was under Hannibal Lecter's thumb. If he wasn't securely in Lecter's pocket, then he would have been only too happy to set Will free. But Lecter wanted Will under lock and key, so Crawford complied.

Lecter was the culprit here. _He_ the criminal. Not Will.

It made Sherlock angrier than he had possibly thought he could ever be to know that the Lecter bastard was free, and that Will was suffering because of him.

He didn't just want to put Lecter behind bars. He wanted to kill him, to make sure that he didn't draw one more breath, to know that he would never see the light of day again. And he wanted to make sure that Will was never victimized like this again.

He hated these people that Will worked with. They didn't value him, or even care about him. They had just used him and thrown him away when they were done with him.

They weren't his friends, or even his colleagues. From what Sherlock had been able to gather, they all saw Will as being some kind of freak, someone who didn't belong or fit in. Sherlock knew all too well what it was like to be an outsider.

He hated thinking that anyone could treat like that. It was cruel. It was barbaric, in this day and age. But these people were idiots who only thought of themselves.

Well, with any luck, he would soon have Will away from here.

He wasn't going to stand by and watch people treat Will badly. He was going to redouble his efforts to make sure that Will was taken away from this horrible place, where he didn't have to deal with people who were two-faced backstabbers.

They only wanted to use him. Sherlock wanted something better for him. Something more, some place where Will would be valued and appreciated.

Will was wasted here. These people were so busy kissing Hannibal Lecter's arse and making sure that they bowed down to him properly that they couldn't -- or more likely, didn't want to -- see what was right in front of their faces. Morons.

Will deserved better than these fake friends.

Honestly, what did it take to make these morons realize that Lecter was playing them for fools? Sherlock couldn't believe that anyone could be so stupid.

He probably had something on all of them, things that they didn't want anyone to know. Things that, if they were revealed, would destroy careers, reputations, and probably even put some people behind bars. So they all danced to his piping.

These people were perfectly willing to sacrifice Will, to throw him under the proverbial bus, to save their own skins. And pretend to care about him while doing so.

Sherlock had nothing but disdain for all of them. Not a single one of them had stepped forward in Will's defense, or even attempted to prove him innocent.

No, they had all acted as though he was guilty, and had assiduously worked to make it seem that he was. Sherlock didn't doubt that some of them -- if not all -- knew that Lecter was the guilty party, and had gone out of their way to fabricate "evidence" against Will.

Well, he would find some way to prove that fact. He wasn't going to let Will stay here, in this place, with no one around him but these awful people.

If he had to, then he would go over Jack Crawford's head.

He would go to the head of the entire damned FBI, if that was what it took to get Will out of here. He wasn't going to let Will Graham rot away in jail for any longer than he had to be there. He would prove Hannibal Lecter's guilt if it was the last thing he did.

He'd already proven that guilt. He had already shown Crawford just how it _had_ to be Lecter who had framed Will, who had put together those lures.

And Crawford had acted as though Lecter was the second coming and had insisted that he couldn't -- and wouldn't -- have done such a thing. But he had been unable to make eye contract with Sherlock; it had been obvious that he was defending Lecter out of fear.

Yes, these people were all firmly under Lecter's influence.

No one here could be trusted. None of them had Will's best interests at heart, or even cared about him. They were only too glad to see him rot in prison.

Sherlock had no intention of lying down and accepting their corruption. He hated them all, and he wished that they were all behind bars in Will's place. Considering the way that they had railroaded him into jail, they were all as guilty as Lecter was.

They all belonged in prison, not Will. They would be lucky if they didn't find themselves there, but at the moment, it wasn't Sherlock's main objective.

He would dearly love to see all of these people who hadn't defended Will's innocence in jail for the rest of their lives, right where they belonged. But his immediate purpose was to get Will out of jail, take him to London, and get him away from here.

He didn't have time to waste with the trash. It would be enough to make sure that Will was safe, far away from them, where they could never harm him again.

Far away from Lecter and his minions.

Sherlock quickened his pace, knowing exactly where he was going. It was obvious that Crawford wasn't going to go against Lecter's wishes, even though Will had been proven innocent. It was time to take this to a higher level, one that Crawford couldn't contradict.

Even Lecter wouldn't be able to go against the man that Sherlock intended to see. He would have to let Will go, and if he came after them, then Sherlock would kill him.

He smiled to himself at the thought. When the President of the United States declared that Will Graham was a free man, then Hannibal Lecter's evil plans for Will would be stopped in their tracks. Will would be free, and the two of them could get on with their lives.


	8. Freedom Regained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he's finally released from prison, Will's thoughts turn to the men who conspired to put him there.

He was free. He was being released from jail.

He didn't know how Sherlock had done it, but obviously, he had. The warden had come to tell Will that he was being released, telling him to get ready. Will didn't know exactly what to do to get ready, but whatever it was, he'd do it gladly.

When the doors of his cell opened, he was taken to a private bathroom, where he was allowed to change his clothes. He stripped off the orange prison jumpsuit with distaste.

Gratefully, he put on his own clothes again; it felt good to be wearing something that was _normal_ for the first time in what felt like forever. The softness of the plaid shirt against his skin felt like heaven; he would never take that for granted again.

There were so many things he'd never again be able to take for granted.

Like knowing that he had a friend who was there for him, he told himself, his thoughts turning to Sherlock. Someone who wanted to help him, Someone who .... _cared_.

It felt unbelievably good to be out of that cell, to be walking down a hallway dressed in his own clothes. It would feel even better to walk outside, in the sunshine, to know that he was a free man and that he would never have to come back here again.

He never would, Will vowed to himself. At no time in the future would he ever set foot in this place again. Not even in a professional capacity.

He almost snorted at that thought. _What_ professional capacity? Jack and Hannibal had made sure that he was stripped of any kind of career; he was obviously done with law enforcement. They'd managed to destroy his life, to take away the one thing that gave him stability.

His teaching had meant so much to him; Jack and Hannibal both knew that. They had used their lies to rip that away from him, to destroy his credibility.

He hated them. He hated them both.

He hated everything they stood for, everything they had tried to make him become. He hated them for using him, and then throwing him away like trash. He hated everything they had ever said, ever done, and all they had ever been in his life.

Will didn't wish death on the two of them, No, death was too good for those scheming bastards. They didn't deserve the sweet oblivion that death could bring.

No, those two deserved to have their freedom and independence taken away for the rest of their lives for what they had done. Jack deserved it just as much as Hannibal; Will was sure that he had gone along with Hannibal's plan to frame him for murder.

He must have. He had blocked every attempt to clear Will's name.

And he had made it impossible for anyone to prove that Will was innocent, going out of his way to make sure that his once-trusted agent remained behind bars.

Yes, Jack was just as complicit in this as Hannibal was. He was an evil monster, maybe not on the same level as Hannibal Lecter -- who was, after all, a murderer -- but Jack _knew_ what Hannibal had done to Will, and was covering for him.

That in itself was beyond evil. Setting up an innocent man to spend his life in prison and be driven mad one day at a time wasn't just evil, it was unconscionable.

But still, he wasn't really surprised that Jack had done so, Will thought, his lips twisting in a parody of his former smile. Jack wanted to get rid of him.

Jack had always merely wanted to use him for his empathic ability, and then throw him away like a piece of trash when that ability was strained to its limits. Jack had always intended to get rid of him; Hannibal had just made it easier to do so.

At the moment, he didn't want to think of them any more. He wanted to walk out into the sunlight, to meet Sherlock, and to make his way to freedom.

Freedom. The word had never sounded so sweet.

He was at the last checkpoint now before he could move out into the sunlight and walk through the front gates as a free man. Will accepted the things that he'd come in with gratefully, glad to see that none of his belongings had been disturbed.

Yes, everything was there. With a curt nod, he turned towards the gates, walking through when they opened without a backward glance.

He kept walking, heading out to the parking lot. He didn't know if anyone was going to be waiting there for him; if Sherlock wasn't there, then he would take a bus into Vienna, and get a cab from there to Wolf Trap. He would simply .... go home.

He squinted as the sunlight blinded him, then opened his eyes.

Sherlock was standing there -- next to Will's car. He was tall and dark and handsome, just as Will had thought he was when they had first met.

Was it his imagination, or was Sherlock even _more_ handsome now, in the bright light of day rather than under those harsh fluorescent prison lights, the sunshine gleaming off his hair and making his skin seem almost translucent?

No, it wasn't his imagination. He had never seen anyone as beautiful as Sherlock was to him in this moment, never seen a smile as bright, as welcoming.

"Will." Sherlock held out a hand to him; Will was expecting the other man to shake his hand, but instead, Sherlock pulled him into a hug, those strong arms moving around him and pulling him close against the lean, hard length of Sherlock's body.

His own body responded in a way that he hadn't expected; in an instant, he was hard, his heart seeming to slam against his rib cage, his breath coming faster.

How could this man have such an effect on him?

"Sherlock." His voice was trembling, as well as his body. Could Sherlock feel him shaking? Of course he did; Sherlock was holding him, one hand moving soothingly down hi back. He buried his face against the other man's shoulder, fighting back the urge to burst into tears.

"Will, it's all right," Sherlock said softly. "It's all right. You're free. For good. I promise you that. Let's go to your house, and we'll talk everything over."

Will nodded, almost afraid to speak for fear that he would cry if he did. Sherlock was right. He had gained his freedom, and that was all he needed to think about right now. They would go home and talk about his future, and hopefully make some plans.

The rest of his life lay open ahead of him. He needed to make the most of it.


	9. Swift Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Will is out of jail, Sherlock hopes that he'll recover from the experience without any problems.

Sherlock tried to keep an eye on Will as the other man drove; he glanced over at the handsome profile several times, wishing that he knew what to say.

Will didn't seem to be shaky or nervous, which was good. But Sherlock knew that he would still have to recover from the time that he had spent in prison; there was no way that such an experience hadn't affected Will in a negative way.

His fists clenched involuntarily at the thought; more than anything, he wanted to take revenge on the people who had conspired to put Will behind bars.

But that would come later, after he and Will had talked.

He didn't know if the young man would accept the plan he had started to formulate in his mind, but he hoped that Will would at least listen with an open mind.

There was nothing left for Will here in Wolf Trap, or with the FBI. Jack Crawford had managed to destroy his career; he could go back to teaching at the FBI Academy, more than likely, but he would never be looked at in the same way again.

Not only that, but if Will stayed here, Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter would probably continue to try to make his life miserable.

Sherlock didn't doubt that between them, they would concoct some other plan to put Will back in jail -- and this time, they might succeed in keeping him there.

They would slowly contrive to drive Will insane -- which was, to Sherlock's way of thinking, what they had been trying to do this time. They wanted to discredit him, to strip him of all recognition, to make him no more than a cipher, a footnote.

Well, they weren't going to do that. Not while Sherlock was here to protect Will and keep him safe from any scheme that could be put to use against him.

He only hoped that Will could make a swift recovery from what he'd already been through.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out to touch the young man's knee as Will stopped the car for a red light. Will turned his head to look at him, that intense blue gaze meeting his own.

Will smiled at him, those beautiful lips slowly lifting at the corners. And Sherlock was sure that he could feel his heart melting in his chest, tightening and ceasing to beat for a few seconds, all from the look in that steady blue gaze.

When Will looked ahead again and pressed on the gas pedal, Sherlock sat back in his seat, wishing that they would get to the house in Wolf Trap quickly.


	10. A Lasting Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they've won a victory over their enemies, Will knows that he and Sherlock s till have some serious problems to face.

Will barely spoke to Sherlock during the drive back to Wolf Trap; there didn't seem to be much to say.

Well, actually, there was a lot to say, but he knew that trying to put any of it into words wouldn't be adequate at the moment. His feelings were overflowing, and he didn't know how to express them without making himself sound silly and stilted.

So he would simply have to wait and try to tell Sherlock just how grateful he was, and how much he owed him, when he could express those feelings more eloquently.

He had never felt such gratitude towards anyone before -- and he'd never felt as though he had such a burden of repayment. How could he give this man back all that he was owed, not only for getting him out of jail, but for conclusively proving his innocence?

Or maybe that proof wasn't conclusive. Maybe there was still some danger.

He didn't want to think about that, though. He just wanted to revel in the fact that he was a free man, and that they had scored a major victory.

He hoped that victory would last, and that his enemies wouldn't be able to find a way to railroad him back to being behind bars. The very thought of it made him shudder; he didn't think the could have taken one more day and night of living that life.

Nothing had ever felt so horrible as the loss of his freedom. And the thought that he didn't belong here -- not only that, knowing that people _knew_ his didn't belong here, yet didn't want to help him -- had been weighing on his mind, crushing his spirit.

That was what Jack and Hannibal had wanted, he told himself, a surge of anger rushing through him. They'd wanted to destroy him from the inside out.

Well, thanks to Sherlock, they hadn't done it. Victory had been snatched away from them.

This time, victory belonged to the good guys, himself and Sherlock. But he didn't know how long that victory would last; he would still have to tread carefully, if he chose to stay here. Though he was fairly that such a decision had already been taken away from him.

He and Sherlock would have to talk, and he would be faced with some tough choices that he really didn't want to have to make.

Will sighed softly, feeling overwhelmed. Yes, he and Sherlock had won a lasting victory today, but they still had to deal with a lot of problems. He had a feeling that his life was going to change completely, and he wasn't sure that he was ready to deal with those changes.

But it also looked as though he didn't have much of a choice, so he'd better get used to them.


	11. Hanging in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is positive that the silence stretching between him and Will on the way to Wolf Trap will drive him mad.

Will wasn't talking to him.

Sherlock knew that he shouldn't let himself worry about that; Will was more than likely mulling over all of the changes that were taking place in his life so quickly. He had a lot to think about, and Sherlock didn't want to rush him in any way.

Still, it would be nice if Will felt more comfortable with talking to him. They would have a great deal of talking to do in the next few hours.

But at the moment, he was willing to let Will wrap himself in a cocoon of silence. The other man had to adjust to being out of prison, after all. Sherlock didn't want to interfere with that adjustment; he would give Will time to get used to being free again.

But the silence would have to end soon.

By the time they got to Will's house in Wolf Trap, he hoped that the younger man would be ready to talk. They had to discuss his options for the future.

Sherlock wanted those options to include moving to London, though he hadn't brought that up with Will yet. He couldn't remember if he had mentioned it or not; he hoped that he had. If that was so, then Will had already had time to wrap his mind around the idea.

But if he hadn't then that shouldn't be a problem. Will was adaptable.

Well, at least he hoped so.

He would have to be, Sherlock thought, repressing a sigh. His entire life had changed; thanks to Lecter and Crawford, he no longer had a place with the FBI. Sherlock wasn't even sure that he'd be able to return to his teaching job. His career was effectively over.

At least it was here in the States. But in England, everything would be different. Scotland Yard would be glad to hav a detective with Will's abilities.

And he'd been proven innocent. That would mean something overseas.

Here, everyone was too busy trying to crawl up Lecter's behind to care whether or not Will was innocent, Sherlock thought, clenching his fists in his lap. But he would take Will away from here, from the fake friends and the people who didn't care about him.

The silence seemed to stretch out between them, until Sherlock was sure that if he didn't say something, he would go mad.

Finally, when he was sure that he couldn't go another moment without trying to start a conversation about something -- anything to break the silence -- Will pulled up in front of a fairly large house, stopped the car, and turned to him with a slight smile.

"We're home," he said softly, the words hanging in the air between them.


	12. Bittersweet Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will didn't expect coming home to feel so emotional.

Will got out of the car and stood there for a few moments, staring at his house.

It didn't feel like _his_ house any more. Even though he had only been incarcerated for a few weeks, it felt like a lifetime. His dogs weren't here; a friend was taking care of them, and the absence of excited barking made him feel sad and deflated.

He had known that coming home to an empty house would be a bittersweet feeling, but he hadn't expected to feel as though he wanted to cry.

He swallowed hard, turning to Sherlock and trying to smile. "This is it," he said, his voice very soft. If he tried to speak any louder, he was afraid that he _would_ cry, and there was no reason for it. This wasn't the time for him to break down.

No, he could do that later tonight, when he was sleeping in his own bed again.

"It's a very nice house, Will," Sherlock said, his voice very soft and gentle. "Shall we go inside, so I can have the grand tour? I'd like to see where you've lived. I think it will give me a much better understanding of you, of who you are and what you do and don't like."

"You do?" Will had to laugh at his own words. "Yeah, of course it will. You're a profiler just like I am, in a way. You notice people's surroundings."

He led the way into the house, relieved to see that someone had been here to dust and vacuum so that the place didn't look and feel completely abandoned.

How much longer would he be here? Not long, really, if he had any inkling about his future. He didn't have a place with the FBI any more; he could try to keep teaching, but he seriously doubted that the Academy would want him around, even though he'd been proven innocent.

He still didn't know just how Sherlock had managed _that_ one.

"I like how you've set it up," Sherlock said with a smile, looking around the living room. His gaze moved over the couch, the piano, the fireplace, and Will wondered just what his companion was gleaning about him from this cursory reading of his home.

He almost didn't want to look around himself. It was good to be home, but it was a bittersweet feeling to know that he probably wasn't going to stay here for long.

Coming home was bittersweet, yes, but he should have expected that. Will held back a sigh, wishing that none of this had ever happened, and that everything could be different. But it was too late to wish for the clock to be turned back. He could only move forward from here.

He would have to close the door on the past, and make what he could of the future.


	13. The Perfect Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to find the perfect moment to try and convince Will that his ideas for the future are the right ones.

Sherlock glanced over at Will as they sat on the couch with their tea; the other man seemed to be studiously avoiding talking to him, or even looking at him. He didn't know what Will was so nervous about, but whatever it was, they needed to confront it head-on.

He had to pick and choose his moment to bring up the ideas he had for Will's future. He only hoped that Will would be receptive to those ideas.

He didn't want to run Will's life. He didn't want to tell the younger man what to do. But he wanted to take care of Will, to continue helping him through the mess he'd found himself in. He wanted to hold out a hand to Will, to give him in hope, a light in the darkness.

Sherlock hoped there would be a perfect moment to do just that.

Already there had seemed to be some chances, but he'd let them pass him by. The time hadn't seemed right; it hadn't been the perfect, golden moment, when the delicate balance around them was exactly right to put forth what he thought would be a good plan.

But _was_ what he wanted right for Will? It seemed as thought it was, but that was up to Will to decide. After all, he knew what he wanted.

Still, he was going to patiently wait for that perfect moment, that _kairos_ , and then put his suggestions to Will as firmly as he could, hopefully without making the other man feel as though he was being pushed. He didn't want to frighten Will away.

At the moment, Will was extremely fragile and vulnerable. Sherlock knew that, and he would never use the fact to his advantage, even for Will's own good.

No, he was simply going to put his ideas forth as gently as possible, and try to encourage Will to think about them, to consider them. That was all. He wasn't going to push; he had the feeling that if he did, Will would run the other way, either out of fear or caution.

The last thing he wanted was to send Will running away from him.

No, he didn't want Will to run in the opposite direction. Rather, he wanted Will to run _to_ him, to trust him and to let him hold out hope for the future.

Will's future here in Wolf Trap, working with the FBI, was effectively ended. Even if he did manage to stay with them, his usefulness to them was probably at an end, thanks to Lecter's scheming, and Jack Crawford being all too eager to go along with those plans.

"I can't stay here." Will's voice was very soft; Sherlock almost wasn't sure that he'd heard the words correctly. "My life here is over. Done. I've got nowhere to go."

"Yes, you do, Will," Sherlock said, his own voice just as soft. "You can come to London with me and start an entirely new life. If that's what you want, then I'll give it to you."

This was it. This was the perfect moment, that delicate, fragile, golden balance when he could say what he wanted to say, when he could let his feelings out. But for some reason, he didn't let himself do that. He held those personal feelings back, at least for the present.

He had to convince Will that he could indeed have a new life, that he could start over. Once he did that, then everything else would fall into place for them.

His emotions had to be put on the back burner for now.

He couldn't let his desire for Will take over; he couldn't let this young man know just how he felt. Will wasn't in a state where he could assimilate those feelings easily; he was at a point where he was torn, conflicted. He didn't need Sherlock's emotions muddying the waters.

Will didn't need this to be made any harder for him. Sherlock was determined to just put the choice in front of him, to hold back the personal side of things until later.

"I want you there, Will," he said softly, leaving his personal feelings at those few words. "I miss having another person in the flat with me. And I think you would easily be able to find a job at Scotland Yard. They could use someone like you, and they'd be grateful for your help."

There. That was all true. The only thing he had left out was the fact that he himself was attracted to Will, that he wanted the young man with him.

He didn't know if Will felt the same, but he _did_ know that there was a pull between them, a connection that neither of them could deny. Maybe Will didn't feel it yet, or maybe he did, but didn't understand what it meant. Sherlock wasn't sure that he did, either.

But it was there, nonetheless. And he wanted to explore that connection.

"London sounds good to me," Will said after a pause. "But it would mean giving up the house here. It would mean changing everything in my life. And I'm not good with change, Sherlock. I never have been. You'll have to help me with that. It's a lot to take on."

"I'm more than willing to do it," Sherlock told Will, reaching out to take the younger man's hand in his own. "I'm willing to do a great deal for you, Will. Just give me the chance."

Will's hand gripped his, and the young man's gaze met his own with a look that told Sherlock all he needed to know. Will had entrusted him with his future in that one look; Will was in his keeping now, and he would do all that he could to make sure that future was bright.


	14. Koi No Yokan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock should have known that he was in love right from the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Koi no yokan" is a Japanese phrase. It roughly translates to the feeling one has when meeting another person for the first time that falling in love with them is inevitable. It's not really "love at first sight," but more the knowledge that there _will_ be a future love.

He should have known that he would feel this way.

He should have guessed it from the first moment he met Will, Sherlock told himself. He should have known that feeling, should have assimilated it immediately.

 _Koi no yokan._ He should have realized that feeling when it had first wrapped around his heart, instead of trying to push it away and telling himself that he would analyze it later. He should have realized what he was feeling, and taken the time to examine it.

That extraordinary sense that he'd had upon first meeting Will, that sense that he would fall in love with this man, had been the most accurate feeling he'd ever experienced.

It had hardly taken any time at all, had it? Sherlock asked himself as he leaned back against the comfortable cushions of the couch. From feeling that he was going to fall in love to actually letting it happen had been accomplished in what must be record time.

He'd never expected this. He had thought that he would merely be helping someone who needed it, not that he would allow himself to fall head over heels for them.

It seemed that Will had an unexpected effect upon him.

Well, he was in it now, he told himself. In over his head. He had never been in love before, but he didn't doubt that he wax experiencing that emotion now. He didn't need to ponder it; there was question. He was in love with Will Graham.

How could he tell Will that he'd fallen in love with him? It wasn't something that he could simply blurt out. It would require finesse and caution.

After all, Will wasn't the most stable of people. He'd admitted as much himself. And he obviously wasn't the sort of man who was used to having people declare their feelings for him. If Sherlock simply said the words, it could make Will run in the opposite direction.

That wasn't at all what he wanted.

No, he wanted Will to turn towards him, to admit that he felt the same .Sherlock wasn't sure that he did, but he could certainly make an educated guess as to Will's feelings.

Will wasn't a man who admitted his emotions easily. He was a man who was used to hiding, to keeping his feelings bottled up inside of him -- just as Sherlock was. They made an odd couple, to say the least. A couple who had all kinds of obstacles in their path.

But Sherlock ws determined that they would knock those obstacles down, and work through any problems that might present themselves. They had to try.

He as getting a bit ahead of himself here, wasn't he? He didn't yet even known how Will felt, though he was fairly sure his own emotions were returned.

Sherlock had the definite feeling that when Will loved, he would love deeply and truly. He would he fiercely loyal and protective towards the person he loved, just as he was towards his dogs. When he loved, he would throw his heart into that love. He would love utterly and completely.

Sherlock wanted to be the person who was on the receiving end of that love. He wanted to be the man to whom Will Graham gave his heart and soul.

He wanted Will's love more than he had ever wanted anything.

He should have known from the first time he saw this man that he was falling in love. There never should have been any question in his mind about it. There had never been a question about it, not really. He had already considered this possibility.

Only it wasn't a possibility, not any more. It was _real_ , and it was immediate. He had fallen in love with Will Graham. No use trying to deny it.

Did Will feel the same? He was fairly sure that the thought of love, of a relationship, had occurred to Will, that this man also felt the attraction, the pull between them. But there was no telling what Will felt, and at the moment, he was too scattered and shaken to discuss the subject.

Well, he could wait. He could be patient.

After all, he'd been patient this long while he had worked to get Will out of jail, Sherlock told himself firmly. He could let that patience live on for a little while longer.

 _Koi no yokan._ He'd always thought of the words with a bit of a disdainful air before, never dreaming that that sort of revelation would ever come upon him the first time he met someone. But then, he had never counted on the advent of Will Graham in his life.

Had Will felt that same attraction, right from the beginning? Sherlock didn't want to simply ask him if he had; somehow that seemed too .... well, intrusive.

But he was fairly sure that Will _had_ felt it, and that he wanted the two of them to advance towards each other, just as Sherlock did. Those steps might be small ones, and it might take them a while to get there. But he was certain that they would.

He and Will were destined to be together. Something lodged deep with his heart told him that this man was his future, the one person who was right for him.

Sherlock was sure that time would prove him right.


	15. From the Ground Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea of starting a new life is looking better to Will all the time.

He'd never felt so utterly defeated in his life.

Will knew that Sherlock wouldn't want him to look at his current situation in that light, but he couldn't help doing so. He didn't really know which way to turn.

He knew that Sherlock had some kind of plan about taking him to London and getting him a job with Scotland Yard, but somehow, everything seemed so far away and improbable at the moment. He wasn't going to turn Sherlock down, but it all just felt .... unreachable.

It wasn't, of course, and he knew that. He had the feeling that if anyone could make things happen, it was this man, and that Sherlock would carry him along.

But at the moment, he just felt .... numb.

Everything felt so hopeless. Hannibal and Jack had apparently conspired to rob him of whatever life he'd had here, turning everything upside down. He would never be able to teach at the FBI Academy again, and he was obviously of no use in the field.

No, now that Jack was done with him, he'd thrown him to the wolves .... and the chief wolf was in the persona of Hannibal Lecter. A man he now wanted to avoid.

He even feared Hannibal, a little. No, more than a little. He was sure that if he stayed here in Wolf Trap, that wolf would be at his throat before long.

Will sighed aloud, the sound loud in the silence of his bedroom. Sherlock was asleep in the other bedroom; at least, Will assumed he was asleep. Sherlock had told him that he didn't sleep much, and that he would be awake with a book for a while.

Will didn't think he could sleep, either.

He hadn't been able to sleep when he was behind bars; he should feel safer and more comfortable here at home, in his own bed. But somehow, he didn't.

This had ceased to feel like home. It felt like a shell of the place he'd been taken away from; it wasn't really where he belonged any more. Maybe Sherlock was right, and he should start that new life in England, try to rebuild from the ground up.

He closed his eyes, giving in to the inevitable. He would have to start over. He had met utter defeat here, and at this point, he really didn't have any other choice.

The prospect of a new life was sounding better all the time.


	16. Impenetrable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His feelings for Will prove that Sherlock isn't the emotionless machine that some people see him as being.

He already knew that Will Graham was his weakness.

Once upon a time, he would have simply kept Will at arm's length, not let him get close, and he would have closed himself off to the other man, Sherlock mused.

But now .... he had changed in the past two years. He had become a new person, really. He had ventured to go outside of his own comfort zone, and apparently, he expected others to do the same as well. He was certainly expecting Will to do so.

Though it was obvious that Will didn't really have a choice. His life here had been ripped to shreds; the best thing for him to do would be to leave and start over.

No one would hold his past against him at Scotland Yard.

Once Sherlock explained what had happened, how horribly Will had been treated here, how he had been used and thrown away, and how he had been framed for crimes he never would have even considered committing, Sherlock knew that there would be no problems.

And he was going to do just that. He was going to show everyone at the Yard just how Will had been thrown under the bus, make them treat him with dignity and respect.

He sighed softly, putting down the book he'd been trying to read. In the past hour and a half, he hadn't gotten past the first ten pages.

His thoughts kept going back to Will, and the future that he hoped the two of them would have. When he took Will to London and introduced him to everyone at Scotland Yard, it would be obvious to those people that Will was not just his friend, but his biggest weakness.

A part of him actually _wanted_ that fact to be common knowledge.

Yes, he might as well admit it. He _wanted_ people to know how he felt about Will. He wanted them to know that he was capable of deep emotions, that he wasn't a machine.

Too many people thought that about him. Too many people thought that he didn't have any weaknesses, that he was impenetrable -- that he was something less than human. Well, his feelings for Will certainly proved that he was just as human as anyone else.

Even though it might not be to his best interests to let those feelings show, Sherlock knew that he wouldn't be able to hold them back.

He just hoped that one day in the near future, Will would return those feelings.


	17. Feels Like Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The effect that Sherlock has on him feels like magic to Will.

"London," Will repeated, his voice thoughtful. "I'd never thought about living there."

But the more he considered Sherlock's idea, the more it seemed like a good one. What did he have left here in Wolf Trap, anyway? His career was destroyed, his reputation in tatters. Even though Sherlock had proven him innocent of murder, there would always be whispers.

People would always be suspicious of him. There would always be talk about him; he would never be fully accepted in society again.

Not that he cared about society, really. But he had to work, had to be productive, had to make a living. And now, thanks to the two men who had schemed to ruin his life, apparently just for their amusement, he was incapable of doing that here.

London definitely seemed like a good alternative.

And besides, in London, Sherlock would be there. He would be living in the same apartment with a _very_ attractive man, a man who he was starting to develop feelings for.

That thought made his heart skip a beat. A few beats, if he was honest with himself. They had been here at his house for the past two days, simply relaxing and talking, and he had to admit that his attraction to Sherlock was growing much stronger.

It was exhilarating, almost frightening in a way. He'd never been this attracted to anyone before; he almost felt giddy with desire whenever he looked at Sherlock.

He hadn't expected that. He hadn't been looking for love.

 _Was_ this something he could call love? It was like a magical spell between the two of them, a web that was being woven to encompass them both and draw them towards each other. Will could already feel himself caught up in that web.

This was completely unexpected, out of the blue. But he didn't want to turn away from the feeling that was growing inside him, a feeling of warmth and safety.

No one else had ever made him feel like this. And he'd never been so attracted to another person. He'd never wanted to be with someone the way he wanted to be with Sherlock. It was as though there was something inevitable about their meeting and coming together.

Fate. Kismet. Meant to be. Written in the stars.

No matter what phrase he used for it, Will had to admit that there was something between them that he had no wish to fight, something that he wanted to give himself over to.

He'd never met anyone like Sherlock before. Not only was the man stunningly attractive, he was also the most intelligent person Will had ever known. He was a fascinating man, with many facets to his personality -- and Will wanted to discover them all.

In the past two days, he'd opened up to Sherlock so much, told him things about himself that he had never discussed with another living soul.

Sherlock knew about his drunken, abusive father, how miserable he'd been in high school; Sherlock knew all about how he'd struggled to come out.

Sherlock knew about his time on the police force in New Orleans, how he'd come to be with the FBI, how he had moved from merely teaching to using his empathic ability in the field. Sherlock knew all about his uneasy partnership with Hannibal Lecter and Jack Crawford.

This man knew more about him than anyone ever had. Sherlock might not know him completely yet, but he had a better picture of Will than anyone else had ever gotten.

And strangely enough, he felt comfortable with that.

Sherlock was the one person he'd ever felt comfortable enough with to talk about his past. Even in his many psychiatric sessions with Hannibal, he'd never gotten into that. Some part of him had known not to trust Hannibal, known to keep some things from him.

But Hannibal had never exercised this magic over him that Sherlock did. He'd never felt this way about the man who had once been his friend.

He had never _wanted_ Hannibal. He'd often wondered what it would be like to be involved with such a man, but that was before he had realized how devious Hannibal was -- and how dangerous the other man was to his well-being and even his sanity.

With Sherlock, everything was different.

There was no need to dissemble with Sherlock, no need to hide anything. He knew that he could trust this man with anything. Sherlock would never betray him.

No, Sherlock would keep him safe. After all, he was the man who had gotten Will out of jail, who had proven him innocent when no one else had cared enough to even try. Sherlock was the one person who had believed in him when everyone else had turned their backs.

Sherlock was the man who had never given up on him. And that, in itself, was a kind of magic. Will owed him so much, more than he could ever repay.

And now, he would owe Sherlock even more.

This was an entirely new life that Sherlock was offering him. A new start, away from all the things that had made him unable to continue his life here as it had been. It would be a new beginning, which was something he desperately needed at this point in his life.

"London," Sherlock said, reaching out to take Will's hand and bringing the younger man back to the present moment. "It would be good for you, Will. I know it would."

Will's gaze met Sherlock's, and he could read what the other man wasn't saying. _I would be good for you, too._ He knew that was true. Sherlock _would_ be good for him. And maybe, just maybe, he would be good for Sherlock as well.

Maybe he would give the other man something that he needed.

The only way they would ever know was to give it a try. If things didn't work out .... well, then he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Then I guess you've got a roommate," Will told Sherlock, squeezing his hand gently. That touch gave him hope; suddenly, he could feel his heart lifting, his spirits soaring. What was this magical effect that Sherlock had on him? No one else could ever do this.

He was happy, for the first time in what felt like ages. He was smiling, and he was actually looking forward to the next days, weeks, months, even years.

More than ever, this felt like magic.


	18. Dreaming of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can no longer deny the fact that he's fallen head over heels in love with Will.

Will was hovering above him, a smile on his lips. Will was looking down   
at him, those intensely blue eyes focused on his face, their gazes   
meeting and holding. Will was touching him, one hand drifting down his   
chest, his fingertips slightly calloused but soft and warm.

Sherlock moaned softly, turning his head to the side, as though he was   
trying to escape that gaze. He wasn't, not really. He didn't mind Will   
looking at him -- and he certainly loved to look at Will. The younger   
man was a beautiful sight.

In just a few moments, they would be doing more than simply looking at   
each other. Sherlock knew that Will was going to make love to him, that   
this was going to be their first joining -- and he was more than ready   
for it. He had been craving this ever since their first meeting.

He wanted Will to make love to him, wanted this man to take him, to   
make Sherlock his. He wanted all that he could get from Will; he was   
greedy for the other man's touch, for his kiss, for his body. He wanted   
this more than he had ever wanted anything.

Will was going to enter him, to take him. He was going to give up his   
virginity willingly, without a second thought, to the man he desired.   
There were no second thoughts, no doubts in his mind. This was what he   
wanted; there would be no regrets, no looking back.

Sherlock's hips raised as Will pressed against him, the touch insistent   
but not overly demanding. In only a second now, Will would be inside   
him, and the long wait to join their bodies would be over. He would be   
a virgin no longer; he would have given himself to Will.

Just as that thought took shape in his mind, just as he was on the edge   
of surrendering himself, Sherlock's eyes opened, and he awakened with a   
gasp. He slowly sat up in bed, looking around the darkened room, his   
eyes wide, his breath hitching in his throat.

A dream. It had only been a dream. Will wasn't in bed with him, wasn't   
beside him. Will was in his own bedroom down the hallway, and he was   
probably sleeping peacefully -- which Sherlock wished he himself could   
do without being haunted by dreams.

This was the third night he had spent in Will's house; Will had agreed   
that leaving Wolf Trap and moving to London was a logical step, and he   
had started to put the wheels in motion to sell his house. It would   
take a few more days, but so far, all was going smoothly.

They had already begun to pack Will's belongings; what he didn't want   
to keep could be given to the local Goodwill, and they would have the   
rest shipped to Baker Street. It would be a bit costly, but Sherlock   
knew that money would be no problem.

He wasn't going to tell Will yet that he came from a well-to-do family   
and that the cost of helping Will move to London was negligible. He   
didn't want to flaunt that wealth; he didn't want Will to feel that he   
was being helped out of pity.

And he didn't want Will to know just how badly he was wanted, Sherlock   
thought with a soft sigh. He certainly couldn't tell Will about these   
erotic dreams; he didn't think Will would be repulsed by them, but it   
might might him feel wary or uncomfortable.

That was the last thing he wanted. He was determined to make this move   
go as smoothly as possible for Will; he wanted the younger man to be at   
ease, to forget all of the stress he'd had to deal with lately and to   
start himself on the road to recovery.

Sherlock wanted to help Will along that road every step of the way, and   
he couldn't help feeling that these dreams, that his own burgeoning   
desire for Will, would only make the other man back away. So he would   
keep them to himself, and try to hold back his own desires.

Once Will was comfortably ensconced at 221B Baker Street, once he began   
to feel comfortable with London and with his new life there, then they   
could talk about their personal feelings. Sherlock was sure that Will   
would be receptive; he just had to be patient.

He sighed, turning over onto his side and closing his eyes, though he   
knew that it would be a good long while before he could sleep again.   
Who was he fooling? He could just as easily tell Will of his feelings   
here, before the move to London even happened.

He was simply afraid to tell Will how he felt, afraid that his feelings   
wouldn't be returned, and that Will might change his mind about moving   
to London if he knew that Sherlock harbored romantic feelings towards   
him. He was afraid that everything would fall apart.

After all, there were so many other places that Will could go. He   
didn't have to move to England once he left Wolf Trap. He could go to   
any city in the States; he didn't have to go to the trouble of moving   
overseas, which would be almost like a whole new world for him.

Sherlock didn't want to upset the delicate balance of the relationship   
that they had already formed; at this point, it might be nothing more   
than a friendship, but they were already close, and growing closer. He   
didn't want to jeopardize that closeness.

They had talked for a quite a while long into the night and during the   
days; Sherlock was sure that he knew more about Will Graham, more about   
his feelings and how his mind worked, than anyone else had ever come to   
know. Will had opened his heart, in some ways.

Well, maybe not his heart, but certainly his mind. Sherlock had begun   
to know the young man well over the past couple of days, and all that   
he discovered about Will only made his respect and desire grow. If he   
had wanted Will before, that desire had only grown.

Did Will feel the same about him? With a sigh, Sherlock turned over   
onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He had no idea if Will had   
the same feelings. He was afraid to ask, afraid to probe in any way   
that might give him the answers he sought.

He had never been afraid to search for answers from anyone before --   
but he had never felt this way before. He was sure that this was more   
than mere desire; what he felt for Will wasn't just a physical lust.   
That wasn't really in his nature.

No, what he felt was love -- or something that could very easily grow   
into love. In fact, Sherlock was sure that the feeling was already   
growing; he already felt protective of Will in a way that he never had   
with anyone else.

Of course, protectiveness wasn't love; there were other things that had   
to be included in the mix for him to be able to call it love. But he   
was sure that he was falling, fast and hard. He might never have loved   
before, but he knew when it was happening.

He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't wanted this. But it had happened,   
and he wasn't foolish enough to turn away from it. Besides, he knew   
that if he did, he would always regret doing so, and that his life   
would be terribly empty and lonely.

Sherlock didn't want to spend the rest of his life dreaming of Will,   
yearning after him. He wanted to take the chance of having Will by his   
side for the rest of their lives, the chance that Will might feel the   
same as he did and want to be with him.

It was a chance worth taking, wasn't it? So many people searched for   
love all of their lives and never found it. He had been lucky enough to   
have it fall into his lap when he hadn't been looking, when he had   
least expected it. He needed to follow through.

He was tired of being lonely, tired of being, as that woman had dubbed   
him, "the virgin." He wanted a relationship, wanted someone in his life   
to love. He wanted to stop dreaming about Will and start being with   
him, to submerge himself in what he felt.

Maybe it would take time. Maybe he was right to wait until they were in   
London and Will had been given time to adjust to living a new life. But   
even if he had to wait for a while, his feelings would eventually be   
out in the open.

Waiting was going to be terribly frustrating, but he could do it. He   
could make himself be patient. And maybe he could drop little hints to   
Will as to how he felt, and judge the other man's reactions. Maybe that   
would be the best way to go about this.

Sherlock sighed again, closing his eyes and bringing Will's face to   
mind. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, anyone who stirred his   
emotions in the way that Will did. It wasn't just his physical beauty.   
It was everything about him.

He couldn't pinpoint just what had made him fall for Will; he didn't   
think that it was just one aspect. It was the aura that surrounded   
Will, for lack of a better term. And, of course, he hadn't been able to   
ignore the fact that Will was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

Really, was it so surprising that he'd fallen in love? Sherlock didn't   
think so. He was over thirty, for god's sake. It was probably far past   
time that his heart had become engaged. Most people were shocked to   
know that it never had been before.

Would anyone be surprised to find out that he'd fallen in love with a   
man? He didn't think so. Most people wondered about his sexuality; he   
was sure that most who knew him thought that he didn't have any sort of   
sexual desires, that he was some kind of anomaly.

But he wasn't. He'd always had desires; he had merely kept all of them   
sublimated, refusing to acknowledge them. He had told himself all of   
his life that he would know when he fell in love, and that when he did,   
he would heed that call.

Well, he'd certainly fallen in love now; he was what people called head   
over heels. In the popular parlance, he'd fallen, and he couldn't get   
up. Truthfully, he didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay head over   
heels, on his knees, fallen and captured.

He couldn't imagine not feeling this way about Will. It had been some   
kind of kismet, some stroke of fate that had brought them together and   
brought his heart under Will's spell. It was a fate that he didn't want   
to deny, a fate that he was grateful to.

He had dreamed about falling in love, and what it would feel like. The   
person he would love had always been a shadowy element of his dreams;   
the face had never been clear, and he'd never known if it would be a   
man or a woman.

Now, that figure had a face, and a name. Will Graham was his love, a   
love who he would never stray from, never forsake. Will had his heart   
for all time; Sherlock belonged to him. It was an admission that felt   
surprisingly easy to make.

Sherlock took one deep breath, then another. He wouldn't have to be   
content with merely dreaming about Will for much longer -- or so he   
hoped. Once they were in London, settled into the flat at Baker Street,   
then he could reveal how he felt.

And then, if Will didn't feel the same, he would make himself back off,   
force himself to view Will as nothing more than a friend, and assure   
the younger man that there would be nothing more between them from then   
on but friendship. No overtures, nothing.

That would be difficult to do, but if Will didn't feel the same way   
about him, then he wouldn't have much of a choice. He hoped that Will   
wouldn't decide to move out, to find his own flat and to avoid him. It   
was a possibility, but one that seemed very dim.

Because he was almost absolutely sure that Will _did_ feel the   
same. He was sure that he'd seen a spark of interest in those blue   
eyes, a spark that matched the one in his own heart. He was sure that   
Will had romantic feelings for him.

It was even very possible that Will dreamed of him, too. The idea made   
him smile. He liked to think of Will dreaming of him in the same way,   
liked feeling that Will wanted him just as much, and that those   
feelings also kept him awake at night.

He wasn't going to ask, of course, but he had the feeling that once the   
move to London was accomplished and they were on more familiar ground,   
he would know soon enough. There was no way that feelings like this   
could be kept hidden forever, on either side.

He would simply have to be patient for just a bit longer, Sherlock told   
himself. Patience wasn't something that came naturally to him, but he   
could force himself to wait when he had to. And the rewards for waiting   
would be more than well worth it.

A smile on his lips, he turned over onto his side again, pulling the   
covers up around him. This time, when he closed his eyes, sleep began   
to overtake him almost immediately, and within moments, he had fallen   
into yet another dream of Will and their future together.


	19. Waiting For the Right Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't sure just when the right time will be to tell Sherlock how he feels, but he knows that it's coming soon.

Will smiled as he ruffled Winston's fur, feeling better than he had   
since he had met Sherlock outside the prison walls. He had made some   
decisions about his life, they were being put into motion, and he was   
finally moving forward.

One of the first things he'd done once he had made the decision to move   
to London with Sherlock was to make sure that his dogs all had homes   
with people who loved them and would take good care of them -- then he   
had gone out of his way to get Winston back.

He knew that keeping six dogs in a small London flat wouldn't be a good   
idea, so he'd made up his mind that they would only have two. But when   
he he had gone to take Vincent back, he couldn't bring himself to do   
it. The children of the household loved the dog too much.

The other dogs all had good homes, too. So he had decided that Winston   
would be their only dog -- and that if Sherlock wanted a dog of his   
own, then they would get one from a shelter in London. Or maybe he'd   
end up finding a stray and adopt them.

He knew that Sherlock liked Winston, so maybe he'd want to get another   
dog. And if not, that was fine, too. Will knew that he'd be happy with   
just Winston. He didn't need to have a lot of dogs, especially not with   
the limited space they would have.

He'd miss the others, of course, but they all had good homes now, with   
other people who loved them. He was happy about that; and as long as he   
still had one of his beloved dogs, then he'd consider himself a lucky   
man. He hadn't expected that much.

No, he had thought that he'd be spending the rest of his life in jail,   
thanks to Hannibal Lecter and Jack Crawford. He pushed those names out   
of his mind as soon as he thought of them; he didn't want to think   
about them, at least not for the moment.

He would rather focus on the life that lay ahead of him, WIll told   
himself. Sherlock had told him that he'd already spoken to a man named   
Lestrade who worked for Scotland Yard, someone who Sherlock seemed to   
work for at times. And the news was good.

Lestrade had apparently expressed interest in having Will work for the   
Yard -- with Sherlock. So he would be able to put his empathic ability   
to good use to keep helping people -- and it didn't seem that the   
frame-up here would get in the way.

Maybe he would be able to do just what Sherlock had told him that he   
should do -- start an entirely new life, in a new place. A life where   
he didn't have to answer to people who didn't have his best interests   
at heart. A life that was fully _his_.

It was hard for him to admit that his life hadn't really been his own   
before -- at least, not after he'd met Hannibal. Nothing he'd done now   
felt as though it had been under his control -- he was beginning to see   
just how he'd been manipulated.

Not only by Hannibal, but by Jack Crawford, as well. That was what had   
really hurt; he had trusted Jack, thought of him as not only his boss,   
but his friend. Yet Jack had been all too quick to throw him under the   
bus when Hannibal had apparently suggested doing so.

His life here was over -- if that life had ever really existed for him   
as more than merely a puppet. Now, he had a chance for something new,   
something better. And now that he'd made the decision to take the   
chance, he felt happier than he'd expected to.

London was going to be new and different, and Will was sure that he'd   
have some adjusting to do. He would be living in the middle fo a large   
city; his privacy and isolation would be gone. It would be something he   
might have a hard time getting used to.

But he would do it, he told himself firmly. It was probably way past   
time that he stopped isolating himself so much, physically as well as   
emotionally. He had already started opening up his heart; now it was   
time to take a few more steps into society.

Yes, he'd opened his heart to Sherlock. He had talked to the other man   
about things he'd never told anyone, not even Hannibal in any of their   
so-called "psychiatric sessions." Sherlock knew more about him, the   
_real_ him, than anyone else ever had.

He trusted Sherlock, in a way that he had never been able to bring   
himself to trust Hannibal. He knew that he could tell Sherlock all of   
his thoughts, and that they would go no further than that. Sherlock   
wasn't going to spill any of his secrets.

He had never felt that way about Hannibal. Their friendship had been an   
uneasy one at best; even when he had thought that Hannibal truly cared   
about him, there had always been that core of doubt that had never   
quite gone away.

Now he knew the truth about his former friend, and he had to admit that   
he felt foolish for letting himself be used in such a way. But that was   
in the past now, over and done with. He could close the doro on it, and   
start an entirely new chapter in his life.

A life that he would be starting with Sherlock. Will's lips curved into   
a smile as he thought of the other man; he instinctively looked towards   
the kitchen, where Sherlock was making tea. How could one person have   
become so precious to him in so short a time?

He was holding onto Sherlock like a life preserver, like a rock that he   
could cling to in the face of steadily rising waters. Though he really   
shouldn't feel like that any more, Will admonished himself. The danger   
was past. He should look to the future.

He was getting out of Wolf Trap, away from Jack and Hannibal. He was   
going to start an entirely new life that they couldn't follow him into,   
a life that was far removed from them. And Sherlock had given him that   
chance. He owed Sherlock so much.

Will closed his eyes, burying his face in Winston's soft fur. The truth   
was, he couldn't help feeling that he owed Sherlock his very life. He   
had the definite feeling that if he'd been in jail much longer, he   
might not have survived.

Sherlock was not only offering him a new life, Sherlock had _saved_ his   
life. How could he refuse to go to London and start a new life with   
him, being his companion and friend? Though really, he wanted to be   
much more than that.

Will wasn't good at reading other people, but he was fairly sure that   
Sherlock was interested in him. He could see the pupils of those green   
eyes dilate whenever their gazes happened to meet and hold, and he was   
positive that Sherlock desired him.

He'd seen Sherlock look at his lips, felt that gaze resting on him when   
Sherlock hadn't realized he was aware of it. And he'd caught himself   
doing the same thing, staring at Sherlock when he thought the other man   
wasn't looking. There was definitely a spark between them.

It was a spark that Will wanted to investigate further. He hadn't given   
much thought to the idea of falling in love with a man -- but it seemed   
that he had. He wasn't sure that it was love, but the more he thought   
about it, the more it seemed as though it was.

What did he know about love? He'd never felt that emotion before, not   
that he knew of. He had always wondered if he would recognize love when   
it came knocking -- but now that he was fairly sure it had, he was more   
than ready to acknowledge its presence.

This wasn't something he'd expected, not at all. But he didn't have the   
power to turn away from it. He already wanted to be with Sherlock, both   
as a friend and roommate, and as .... something more. Something much,   
much more. Something that took his breath away.

He'd dreamed about the two of them in the past two nights, about him   
making love to Sherlock -- but more about Sherlock making love to him.   
He'd dreamed about them being together physically, their bodies coming   
together in the most primal of ways.

And it hadn't seemed wrong, not at all. No, when he'd awakened, he had   
felt a profound sense of disappointment to discover that it was only a   
dream, that Sherlock was in the other bedroom just down the hall, and   
he himself was in his own bed, alone.

He had wanted those dreams to be real. He had wanted to be wrapped in   
Sherlock's arms, holding the man he was falling in love with, kissing   
him, feeling the two of them become one. His arms literally ached to   
embrace Sherlock, to touch him and hold him.

He'd never wanted to touch anyone else the way he wanted to touch   
Sherlock. And he found himself looking at the other man's mouth when he   
didn't realize he was doing so, wondering how it would feel to kiss him   
and to feel those incredible lips under his own.

Sherlock's mouth looked so amazingly soft, so inviting. Just looking at   
those lips made Will want to kiss him; there had been one point last   
night when they'd been sitting on the couch, watching a movie, when he   
had wanted to simply lean over and do so.

But he'd managed to hold himself back, though just barely. Afterwards,   
he had wondered if he should have just gone ahead and done it, and to   
hell with the consequences. If Sherlock wanted him in the way that Will   
thought he did, it wouldn't be a problem.

Why was he so aggressive with this man? Why did Sherlock make him feel   
things that no one else had ever had the power to do? Why had these   
feelings suddenly kicked in with a man he had only recently met, and   
how had they grown so strong so quickly?

He didn't have the answers to those questions; he only knew that the   
feelings were there, and that he was more and more ready to act on   
them. Will was sure that Sherlock wanted him to do so; he was simply   
waiting for what felt like the right time.

That time was coming soon, and he knew it. Maybe Sherlock could feel   
it, too. Will didn't know when the right time would come, but he was   
going to go with what he felt. When ti seemed that the time was right,   
that was when something would happen between them.

He and Sherlock were on the same wavelength. They would know when the   
time was right; they would _feel_ it. He was going to close his   
eyes and jump right in, and he wasn't going to be afraid. He was going   
to immerse himself in this new life.

A life that Sherlock was a part of, a life that Sherlock had given to   
him. Just the thought of sharing the rest of his life with Sherlock   
made Will's lips curve in a smile; his heart felt as though it was   
lifting, starting to take flight.

This was going to be a good life. He didn't doubt that in the least. It   
would be a life shared with someone he loved, someone who he knew was   
going to come to mean more to him than anyone ever had before. It was a   
life he looked forward to living.

He was already on the path to starting that life. It was only a matter   
of waiting for the right time to take the next step, and Will couldn't   
help feeling that, even though he didn't know just when that time would   
be there, that it was already very close at hand.


	20. Everything Moves On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will learned long ago that everything in life moves forward -- and now, he's letting himself go with the flow.

Will stood in the front yard of his house, the house that would only be   
his for a short time longer, until it was sold. He looked around him,   
taking everything in. He no longer felt as though he fit in here; he   
was putting it all behind him.

It was all done now -- the packing, the arrangements for shipping. Now   
that another two days had gone by, he was starting to feel anxious and   
impatient, ready to leave. He was more than ready to move on with his   
new life; he even _needed_ it.

His life here was over. He knew that. Still, there would be a lot of   
things that he missed about Wolf Trap. He would miss the peace and   
quiet, the solitude, the feeling that he was at one with nature and all   
of the creatures around him.

Getting used to living in the city wouldn't be easy for him, but he'd   
manage it. After all, London was going to be an exciting place; he'd   
have things to do, and he wouldn't be able to focus on missing Wolf   
Trap or being homesick.

He'd have a lot on his plate right from the beginning -- he'd have to   
get used to a new city, get used to working for Scotland Yard, and deal   
with having a roommate. But that third thing wasn't going to be hard at   
all, Will thought with a smile.

He was already used to being around Sherlock; for the first time in   
his life, he actually _liked_ having someone around all the time.   
It didn't feel like a loss of privacy -- rather, it felt comfortable   
and companionable to have Sherlock living with him.

It was a little surprising to him that he was actually looking forward   
to moving to London. It would be a little scary, but it would be a new   
experience, and he'd discovered that some new experiences could be good   
ones, if he relaxed and opened himself up to them.

Just like falling in love was a new experience, Will thought with a   
soft smile. Now that he'd accepted the fact that he was in love with   
Sherlock, everything seemed to be coming easier, even accepting that   
he'd given his heart away.

He couldn't help but think that Sherlock might have done the same   
thing, but there was no way that he could simply come out and ask the   
other man point-blank how he felt. It would feel rude and intrusive,   
and he wasn't prepared for whatever the answer might be.

if it wasn't in the affirmative, then he would have embarrassed himself   
horribly, as well as not getting the answer he wanted to hear. No, it   
was best to wait a while, until they had settled into the London flat   
comfortably, before he moved in that direction.

Will turned his head as he heard Sherlock's footsteps behind him; the   
other man stopped next to him, hands in the pockets of his long trench   
coat, looking around him just as Will had done. There was a slight   
smile on his lips, a look of peace on his face.

"It's lovely here," Sherlock said softly. "So peaceful and quiet. I can   
understand why you chose to live here, and why you might miss it. But I   
hope that you'll come to love London -- and our flat -- just as much as   
you do this place, in time."

"Everything moves on in life," Will said with a shrug. "I don't think I   
ever believed that I'd be here in Wolf Trap forever. Yeah, there are   
some things about it that I'm going to miss, but I'm looking forward to   
London. I think I'll like it there."

"I think you will, too," Sherlock told him, sounding enthusiastic. "I   
have so much to show you in the city, Will. There's a great deal to see   
and do, and I think you're going to really enjoy living there, and   
working with the Yard."

"I'll enjoy it because you're there," Will said softly, his blue eyes   
widening as he turned to look at Sherlock. Where had that come from?   
He'd told himself that he wasn't going to say anything about how he   
felt until they were in London and settled in.

But he'd let the cat out of the bag now; with Sherlock's keen senses,   
there was no way that the other man wouldn't pick up on exactly what   
he'd meant. And if Sherlock didn't feel the same way, then he would be   
disillusioned before they'd even left Wolf Trap.

"And I'll enjoy being there even more with someone I care about living   
with me in the flat," Sherlock said, his voice equally soft as he   
returned Will's gaze. Two pairs of eyes locked and held, their gazes   
intense, their meanings clear.

As one, the two of them moved towards each other; Will's arms wrapped   
around Sherlock as though of their own volition, and he could feel the   
other man's strong arms sliding around him to pull close against the   
lean warmth of Sherlock's body.

This wasn't how he had thought he would tell Sherlock about his inner   
feelings; he had imagined something much more romantic than standing   
here in the front yard that would no longer be his in just a few short   
days, looking out over the landscape.

But then again, it _was_ romantic, wasn't it? Wolf Trap was a   
gorgeous place, and the forest around them was peaceful and quiet. It   
was the right place, and the right time, for him to declare those   
feelings; something told him that the timing was perfect.

He could feel Sherlock's breath, the warmth of the exhalation on his   
skin. Their noses bumped slightly as they moved closer, but Will didn't   
draw back. He couldn't make himself pull away from this man; he only   
wanted to be closer to him, not further away.

Sherlock's hand came up to cradle the back of his head; his own hand   
moved to twine his fingers through Sherlock's dark hair, to pull his   
head closer. His eyes closed; he no longer knew if Sherlock was looking   
at him or not, and he didn't care.

When their lips met, the kiss was soft and gentle, a bare caress of   
lips. It was the sweetest kiss that Will had ever experienced; not that   
he'd had many, but he'd had enough to know that this wasn't just a kiss   
\-- it was a promise for their future.

Sweet and soft and gentle, just like Sherlock had been with him from   
the beginning. This was what he wanted, what he needed. He wanted to   
let himself fall into this man, to settle himself deep into the core of   
Sherlock's being, and let Sherlock do the same with him.

Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever drawn him in the way   
that this kiss did, making him feel as though he wanted to wrap himself   
around the person who was kissing him and become a part of them. His   
grip on Sherlock's hair tightened, his heart skipping a beat.

Sherlock's other hand was moving up and down his back, drawing him   
inexorably closer. Will realized that his free hand was doing the same   
\-- and that the kiss was becoming more intense, going from soft to hot,   
feeling as though it almost seared his lips.

He wanted to stand here and kiss Sherlock forever, but of course, they   
had to come up for air. When their lips parted, Will didn't take a step   
back; he stood there in Sherlock's embrace, holding on to the other   
man, reluctant to let go.

It seemed that Sherlock felt the same, because he didn't step back,   
either. Instead, he regarded Will with a quizzical expression, then he   
smiled and leaned in again to brush his lips gently across Will's, the   
caress almost more intimate than the kiss had been.

"I think that shows us both how we feel," Sherlock whispered, his eyes   
not leaving Will's face. "I've been wanting to do that ever since the   
first time I saw you, but the prison bars prevented it. Now, I can do   
that all I like. And I'd like to do it quite a lot."

"So would I," Will murmured, feeling a blush suffuse his cheeks. Yes,   
he wanted to kiss Sherlock a lot more -- again and again and again,   
until they were both breathless with yearning. He wanted the two of   
them to do a lot more than just kiss.

No, that would come later, he admonished himself. When they were living   
in the flat in London, when they knew each other better. There was so   
much ahead of them, and he didn't need to move too quickly into the   
future. This wasn't a race.

But he'd been so right in what he'd said to Sherlock. Everything   
_did_ move on, and even though it felt like they were moving more   
quickly now than he'd expected, he didn't want to slow down. He wanted   
the merry-go-round to keep spinning, to keep moving.

"I .... I'm falling in love with you, Will." Sherlock's words were very   
soft, so soft that Will almost didn't believe he'd heard them at first.   
But when they settled into his brain, they made his heart leap and his   
pulse jump as their meaning sank in.

Sherlock felt the same as he did. Sherlock was falling for him, just as   
he was falling for Sherlock. This wasn't one-sided; this feeling was   
being returned, apparently just as strongly as he felt it. There was no   
fear, no doubt, no hesitation.

There was nothing to hold the two of them back. They were two adults,   
wo men who were completely free to do as they chose. And by moving to   
London, moving in with Sherlock, he was taking that irrevocable step,   
moving in the direction he wanted to go.

"I'm falling for you, too," he whispered, still not moving from the   
warm, protective circle of Sherlock's arms. "I think I might have been   
ever since we first met, when I was still in jail. I haven't been able   
to stop thinking about you."

"I lie in bed at night and wish that I was in bed with you," Sherlock   
told him, the words sending a shiver down Will's spine. "I've wanted to   
come into your room and slip under the covers and just hold you, but I   
didn't think it was a wise thing to do."

"I would have loved it," Will told him, his lips curving in a smile.   
"It was what I wanted you to do. Maybe I should have said something  
about how I was feeling before now, but I didn't know if you felt the   
same, and I didn't want to be embarrassed."

"Neither did I," Sherlock told him, his own smile mirroring Will's. "I   
didn't believe that you could possibly have any interest in me -- even   
though I had my moments of being fairly sure that you did, just from   
being observant. But still, I wasn't _sure_."

"Well, you can be sure now," Will murmured, his voice growing stronger   
as he continued to speak. "I'm falling for you. Hard and fast. I might   
have already fallen all the way, but I've never been in love before, so   
I can't be completely sure."

"I think we can be sure that we both harbour strong feelings for each   
other, and that they can grow into love," Sherlock told him, his voice   
still very soft and gentle. "I hope you're willing to explore those   
feelings with me, Will."

Will nodded, smiling at Sherlock's words. "Yeah, I am," he answered,   
his own voice strong and sure. "I want to do that. Everything moves on,   
right? And our feelings for each other have to move forward. I think   
they'll move even faster once we're in London."

"I certainly agree with that," Sherlock said, his tone warm. "And for   
now, I think that we can simply say we're starting a relationship and   
taking it one small step at a time. Does that sound right?" he asked,   
sounding somewhat anxious.

"That sounds pretty much perfect to me," Will said, finally stepping   
back a little and taking Sherlock's hand in his own. "I think we're   
heading in the right direction. And taking small steps is a good thing,   
Sherlock. In the end, we'll get to where we're going."

"I can't wait to get there," Sherlock murmured, the words obviously   
meant for Will's ears only. "I'm looking forward to the day when we're   
exactly where we want to be. Though I feel that we're in a good place   
right now. At least, a good place to start."

"A very good place," Will agreed, turning and heading back inside the   
house with Sherlock by his side. They had so much ahead of them, he   
told himself with an inner smile. Yes, everything moved on. And now, he   
was moving right along with the current.


	21. Fated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't help but think that he and Will were destined to be with each other.

Sherlock sat on the couch with Winston's head in his lap, smiling as he glanced towards the kitchen. Now that he and Will had finally told each other how they felt, he was much more comfortable being here, and he was sure that Will felt better, too.

Not that he hadn't been comfortable around the other man before; he'd not have wanted Will to move in with him if he felt uneasy around him. But now that their feelings were out in the open, there was a new level of ease between them.

Just sitting here sipping tea, and knowing that Will was right there in he next room, made him feel .... secure. More so than he had in quite some time -- possibly ever. It felt as though his future was assured, and that the future was full of possibilities.

He'd never considered anything like this before; the idea of making a life with someone he loved was new to him. He had long given up looking or love, or a relationship. He had simply accepted that he wasn't meant to be involved, and hadn't thought about it.

Being in a relationship was also something new for him. He was still trying to assimilate the fact that he'd had his first kiss earlier this evening, standing on the front lawn -- if it could be called a lawn -- of Will's house here in Wolf Trap.

It hadn't felt odd, or uncomfortable. It had simply felt _right_ to kiss Will, to feel the other man's body in his arms, to have those soft lips on his. The kiss had been everything that he had ever hoped a kiss could be, and more.

He could still feel the softness of Will's lips on his own, could still taste the sweetness of that kiss. There had been passion behind that sweetness, a passion that he couldn't wait to explore. It still scared him a little, but he would get past that.

There was nothing to be afraid of. Not with Will. He was fairly sure that Will was a virgin as well; they would be exploring this new world of feelings and sensations together. He wouldn't be alone in this, his lover would be along for the ride with him.

 _His lover._ Sherlock couldn't help smiling at those two words; they were words that he'd never thought he would have occasion to say. He had never thought that he'd have a lover; he had resigned himself to being a virgin for all of his life.

But now, he had found the person who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the person who he wanted to love and make love to, and who he wanted to make love to him. It was as if a puzzle piece had quietly clicked into place, after a long search.

He had always felt like a lone puzzle piece, sitting on the sidelines but never fitting into the big picture. He'd thought that he would always feel that way, that he would never manage to fit in, that he'd always be on the outside looking in.

Meeting Will had changed all of that. He had known from the first time he'd laid eyes on Will, when the other man was still behind bars, that this man would be someone special in his life. It just hadn't occurred to him then _how_ special Will would prove to be.

Will made him feel complete in a way that he never had before. He had never understood why people in love felt that their mates completed them; he'd never understood just how strong those emotions could be. Well, he most definitely understood now.

How was it possible that love could change everything for a person? He had never believed that he would find love; he'd never thought that he would _want_ to be changed in so many ways, from the inside out. But, oddly enough, he did.

Finding Will had added a dimension to his life that he would never have expected it to have. He felt more fulfilled, more energetic; he felt as though he could leap to the top of the world and conquer any problem. Will made him feel .... invincible. 

Of course, he knew that he wasn't. No one was invincible, not even the great Sherlock Holmes. But Will made him feel as though he could do anything; just knowing that someone cared about him and believed in him made his spirit soar to the clouds.

Will appeared in the kitchen door, a smile on his face. "I'm making a pizza," he said, indicating the kitchen behind him. "It's just a frozen one, but they're pretty good. I thought we might order out, but since I had this one, I figured we should eat it."

Sherlock nodded and smiled, not really caring what they ate. It was enough for him to be here with Will, for them to be together, and for him to feel so comfortable and at ease in this new situation. It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it might be.

No, so far, being involved with someone had been easy; it seemed to come naturally, as though he and Will had somehow been destined to do this. Was that possible? Could the two of them have been fated to meet, meant to be together?

Sherlock had never really believed in such a capricious thing as fate before, but now, he had to wonder if some sort of kismet might have had a hand in the two of them meeting. Had they always been meant for each other, without either of them knowing it?

No, of course not, he told himself firmly. That idea was silly in the extreme. But still, there _did_ seem to be something outside of themselves that had brought them to each other, some plan that had been guiding their lives.

He could accept that. He could let himself believe that Will had been meant for him, and he for Will, that they were intended to find each other and be together. It wasn't a belief that he would usually ascribe to, but Will was changing a lot of things about him.

He had, after all, never believed that he would find love -- and yet, somehow, he had. For some reason, the man who he had fallen head over heels for actually felt the same way about him, which seemed like something of a minor miracle in itself.

Sherlock had never thought of himself as the sort of person who could inspire a great passion in anyone. He had always thought that if he ever _did_ find love, it would be something that was steady and comfortable, not something passionate and overwhelming.

He'd been very wrong about that, he told himself with an inward smile. The passion he felt for Will was overpowering; for those moments when Will had been in his arms and they had kissed, he had felt more than passion, more than desire.

He didn't know how to put a word to those emotions; they were too new to him, and even a little confusing. But he knew that he wanted to keep feeling them, to let them grow and develop, and that he wanted this relationship with Will to flourish.

"What are you thinking about?" Will asked as he came into the room and sat down beside Sherlock. "So many emotions just flickered over your face in the last few seconds. It was like watching a movie playing out in front of me. It looked pretty serious."

Sherlock laughed ruefully, shaking his head and turning to Will. "No, it wasn't serious," he said softly, reaching out to take Will's hand in his own. "I was simply thinking about us, about the future we have together, and about how we seem to be .... fated."

Will nodded, a slight frown marring his brow. "I used to not believe in things like fate," he commented, twining his fingers through Sherlock's as they sat there facing each other. "But now .... I can't help feeling that maybe fate _did_ play a part in us finding each other."

"I believe that it did," Sherlock said, his voice very soft. "I don't believe that I would have been here in the States, and have been so readily available to help you, if fate hadn't brought me here and then steered me in your direction."

"And it's like everything -- and everybody -- else played their parts, too," Will mused. "It's almost like everything was .... arranged to perfection for everything to work out for us, doesn't it? Me needing help, you being there to give it --"

"And us falling for each other from the first moment we met," Sherlock finished for him. "Yes, we've all played our parts, even the people who put you behind bars." Sherlock's slight smile morphed into a frown. "I don't think their parts in our lives are done quite yet."

Will sighed softly, nodding in agreement. "I don't think so, either," he said, his voice barely audible. "They want to destroy me, Sherlock. I don't know why, but Jack and Hannibal want me to be under their thumbs. They want to _control_ me."

"That's what men like them are always after. Power and control. And the more they have, the more they want," Sherlock said, his voice tight with anger. The way those men had treated Will made him furious; he wanted to see them pay.

He wanted to put the two of them behind bars, to treat them exactly the way they had treated Will. He wanted them to lose their autonomy, their freedom, to make them suffer. And he wanted to see their reputations destroyed -- again, as they had done to Will.

But this wasn't the time to think about taking revenge for the wrongs of the past, Sherlock told himself firmly. This was the time for the two of them to look towards the future, and to make plans for leaving Will's old life behind and starting a new one.

These remnants of Will's old life could be cleared up later, once they were safely in London and Will was ensconced in the flat at 221B Baker Street, once he had settled in. At the moment, Sherlock was more concerned with getting them to that point.

Yes, the men who had so shamelessly used Will and tried to take him apart piece by piece should be made to pay for what they had done. Tha twas something else that he hoped fate would afford them -- the opportunity to see justice done.

"Maybe it was all fated to happen," Will said softly, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts. "Maybe I _had_ to be in jail for you to be able to meet me, to help me. Maybe this was how it was all supposed to turn out for us, right from the beginning."

"You could be right," Sherlock answered, his own voice equally soft. "I hadn't thought of that, but it could be true, Will." He smiled at the other man, feeling his spirits lift. "Perhaps fate has its own plans for us, and this was how it chose to bring us together."

"I think you might be right about that," Will told him with a soft smile. "But it doesn't matter how fate might have chosen to bring us together in the end, as long as we're together. Whether it's fated or not, I'm exactly where I want to be."

"And when we're in London, then you'll be exactly where you belong," Sherlock added, his own smile mirroring Will's. "I think you're going to love London, Will. This will be a whole new life -- for both of us. Things will be different for me, as well."

When Will didn't say anything, merely smiling at him again, all he could do was gaze into those intensely blue eyes, knowing that he was lost. Yes, he _had_ been fated to fall in love with this man. There was no way he could have avoided it.

Loneliness was the past. Will Graham was his future -- a future that he had been fated to find. And he knew in his heart that their future would be a glorious one. He could hardly wait to get to London and get started on that future as soon as possible.


	22. Overly Practical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has to weigh the merits of being practical versus going after what he really wants.

He really should stop being so damned practical.

Will took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He didn't want to be here in his room, studying the papers that the realtors had given him about the sale of the house. He wanted to be downstairs with Sherlock, curled up with him on the couch.

But he had decided that it was better to be practical about their relationship, to take things slowly, to wait until they were in London to move things forward.

He could sense that Sherlock wasn't entirely happy about that, but he knew that the other man would wait for him and give him all the time he needed. Sherlock wasn't exactly experienced, either; they'd talked about that issue, about their mutual lack of experience with relationships.

Neither of them wanted to hurry things along. They'd both assured each other that they were content to take their time, to move forward cautiously.

Only now, Will wasn't so certain that he'd told the absolute truth about that. He found himself wanting Sherlock more and more, wanting to be with him, close to him, wanting to hold him and be held, wanting to kiss him over and over, until they were both breathless.

And he was fairly sure that Sherlock wanted that, as well.

So why couldn't he quit being practical, and just take what he wanted? Why didn't he get up, go downstairs, and do what his heart was clamoring for him to do?

He sighed softly, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. He didn't do it because he was afraid of making Sherlock run in the opposite direction if he was too aggressive, that was why. He didn't want to run the risk of losing what he'd so recently found.

He didn't think Sherlock would back away; he was convinced that his newfound boyfriend wanted him just as much. But he didn't want to take that chance.

Losing Sherlock wasn't an option. Now that they'd kissed, now that he knew Sherlock was attracted to him and wanted a physical, as well as an emotional, relationship as much as he himself did, he wasn't going to do anything that might jeopardize their future together.

He wanted this new life. He wanted to move to London, to live with Sherlock, to be involved with him. It was a second chance for him, one that he hadn't thought he would get.

That chance was precious to him. He wouldn't turn away from it.

Would being closer to Sherlock now jeopardize their future? Will didn't know, but he didn't want to take the risk that it might. That future was too precious.

It also felt somewhat precarious, as though it hung in the balance. He wanted to be practical about that future, and not take any chances with whether or not it would work out. Because once he made that leap from Wolf Trap to London, there was no turning back.

He was burning his bridges here. There would be nothing for him to come back to if things didn't work out with him and Sherlock. He was leaving Wolf Trap, and the FBI, for good.

It was terrifying to think that once he'd cut the cord by selling the house, there was no coming back. He was leaving behind all that had been his refuge for years.

Turning his back on what had once been his safe haven, his place of peace, was one of the hardest things he had ever done. But it was time to say goodbye to that phase of his life; there was nothing left for him here, and each day proved that more and more.

No one here seemed to care that he was leaving; in fact, they had all been conspicuously silent, as if they all _wanted_ to go, to become a relic of their pasts.

They acted as though he was an embarrassment to them.

Well, that was fine with him. If they wanted to act as though he had never been their friend, then that was their right. Maybe they never really _had_ been his friends.

After all, none of them had lifted a finger to try to prove his innocence; they had all just gone along with Jack and Hannibal, acting as though they believed in the myth of his insanity, as though his friendship was now a source of embarrassment in their lives.

It was only practical of him to move away from this, to distance himself from a past that couldn't be part of his life any more. It was time to leave, and not look back.

But maybe he was being overly practical in thinking that he and Sherlock should wait to be together as a couple until they got to London and were living together, starting their new life. They were pretty much living together here and now, weren't they?

Will had to laugh at himself; he was being silly, really. There was nothing to keep him and Sherlock from being together. They were two adults who could make their own decisions about their lives.

And his decision was to be with the man he loved.

It was time for him to quit being practical, to throw caution to the winds, and to be more adventurous with his life. He'd spent far too much time holding back, not going for what he wanted, being quiet and hovering in the background. He was through with that.

He was moving to London, starting his first real relationship, and moving into a whole new phase of his life. A life that he couldn't wait to begin living.

So why not start living it here and now? There was nothing to stop him from doing just that; he was sure that Sherlock wanted that life to start for them just as soon as he did. He would be welcomed with open arms and a smile -- and an open heart. He had no doubt of it.

The time for being overly practical was past. It was time for him to spread his wings, to let himself soar, to fly on the winds of a new life, a second chance.

Will got to his feet, putting his glasses back on and pushing his chair back. There was no reason for him to be up here alone when Sherlock was downstairs, waiting for him and probably wanting his company. He was done with being overly practical.

To hell with practicality. Tonight, he was going for what he wanted.


	23. Not Only A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds it hard to concentrate on anything when he knows that Will is near.

Sherlock put the book he was reading down, sighing softly and leaning his head back against the couch cushions. He assumed that Will had already gone to bed; the younger man had been upstairs for a while, and he'd looked tired.

He himself was wide awake; he didn't sleep much, and he doubted that he would sleep at all tonight. Maybe a couple of hours, but not much more than that.

He couldn't concentrate on the book; he couldn't think of anything other than the man who was upstairs, the man who he wanted to be here on the couch, in his arms, in his embrace. The man he wanted to hold, to kiss, to be close to. The man who had become his obsession.

That thought made Sherlock's pale eyes open wide.

 _Was_ he obsessed with Will? He didn't like to use that word; it made him think of Moriarty, and that man's perverted obsession with him.

And it also made him think of Hannibal Lecter, and his peculiar obsession with Will. An obsession that had led him to frame Will for murder, to make sure that Will was behind bars so he could be controlled and observed, so he could be slowly driven mad.

The thought of what Lecter had done to Will made Sherlock clench his fists in anger; he hated to think of it, hated to know that Will had been treated so horribly.

And by someone who he'd mistakenly thought was a _friend_. Sherlock had been treated badly by a few people in the past he'd thought were friends; he had done with friendship, swearing off it for the rest of his life. He'd thought that he would leave all human relationships behind.

But Will had changed his mind. The attraction had been so instantaneous that he'd known he couldn't live without having this man by his side.

Though not merely as a friend. As much, much more.

He wanted to be Will's lover. He'd admitted that much to himself after the second time they had met, when he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the younger man. He might have even felt that way at their first meeting, when the attraction had first grabbed him.

Sherlock sighed, opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. He had never felt that way about anyone before. He had never _wanted_ anyone before.

He had always thought that he could live without sex, without love. It had never seemed to matter all that much; if he needed sexual relief at times, well, he always had his hand. He'd made do with it over the years, and he saw no reason not to keep doing so.

It had never occurred to him that he would ever want more.

But now, he did. He wanted Will Graham with the keen intensity of a knife edge; he wanted Will with all of his heart and soul, as well as his body.

That desire had overtaken him when he'd least expected it to, spinning him around until he was gasping and didn't know which way was up. That desire had turned him upside down and inside out, made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything.

When Will was near, all he could concentrate on was how much he wanted to take the young man into his arms and kiss him -- and how much he wanted to be kissed.

He loved the feeling of Will's lips under his own, of that slender body yielding in his arms. And he loved how those strong arms felt around him.

Sherlock was sure that when they came to the point of consummating their relationship in the physical sense, neither he nor Will would be in any assigned role. they would simply follow their hearts, and do what they felt was right for both of them.

There was no top, no bottom, no dominant or submissive. There were only two men who cared for each other, and wanted each other with a burning intensity.

Yes, he wanted Will, as he had never thought he could want anyone.

How was it possible for him, the man who had thought that he could happily live out his life without any kind of sexual involvement, to want someone this much? How had the floodgates broken so quickly with only one look at the man he had fallen so hard and fast for?

Sherlock didn't have the answer to that question, but then, he didn't need an answer. It was enough for him to know that this desire existed within him.

it was a desire that he only wanted to fan the flames of, a desire that he wanted to explore to the fullest. He had never thought himself capable of feeling like this, and he had always thought that if he _did_ ever experience such a strong desire, he would be frightened of it.

But he wasn't. He wasn't afraid at all. Not in any way.

He'd never thought this would happen to him. He'd never thought that he would feel such a primitive desire, such a need to make someone else _his_.

And along with that, he'd never thought that he would experience such a strong need to _be_ someone else's, to let another person take him over, body and heart and soul. But Will had done so; he had given himself over to this man, and he had no regrets.

Why should he regret anything? Sherlock asked himself with a smile. He was doing exactly what he wanted to do. He was going into this with his eyes wide open.

There was nothing to regret, nothing to fear. This was a natural step forward in his life; even though he had never planned on falling in love, now that it had happened, he wasn't going to turn away. He was going to let himself embrace that love, to revel in it.

He couldn't concentrate on anything but that love, couldn't focus anything but Will. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on other things, when Will was near, he filled Sherlock's world.

That might make living together a little difficult at first, he thought with a sigh.

But they would get past that. They would overcome whatever difficulties might be thrown into their path, and they would carve out a life for themselves. A good life, a life that they would both embrace. And they would be happy. He was absolutely sure of that.

How could he not be happy with a man like Will by his side? The man he loved, the man he wanted, the man who filled his life and his heart.

A small smile played over Sherlock's lips as he lifted his head from the cushions -- and there, standing on the steps in front of him, was Will, as though Sherlock's thoughts had conjured him up by magic. Without a word, Sherlock held out his arms, his smile broadening and his heart leaping with joy.


	24. Of Love and Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hopes that he and Will can manage to soothe away any pain they might inadvertently cause each other in the future.

He'd thought of Will, and here he was. 

Sherlock looked up as Will came down the stairs, smiling and holding out a hand to him. "I was feeling as if I might come up to your room," he said softly. "But you've come to me."

"I needed to," Will told him, his voice very soft. He crossed the short span of space to the couch, sitting down beside Sherlock and turning towards him. "I couldn't concentrate on what I was doing. I needed to be with you. Close to you."

"I needed that, too," Sherlock told him, putting aside the book that he'd been trying to read. "I think I read the same page four times, and I don't have a clue as to what it was about."

Will laughed, shaking his head ruefully.

"Nobody's ever affected me this way before, Sherlock," he said, his words hesitant. "It scares me a little, to be this attracted to someone. Any time I've ever thought I cared about somebody before, I've always gotten hurt. I don't want it to happen again."

"Oh, Will." Sherlock slid his arms around the younger man, pulling Will into his arms. "I'm not going to hurt you, my sweet. I would never do that."

"I know you wouldn't." Will sighed as he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes. "I'd never hurt you, either. But I know we've both been bruised before, even though neither of us have ever been involved with anyone. And we might bruise each other more."

"That's probably going to happen in the course of a relationship," Sherlock agreed. "It's said that the course of true love never runs smoothly."

"Especially for two people who've never been in love before and might not know how to deal with it," Will said, his tone somber. "How are we going to avoid hurting each other at times, Sherlock? And are we going to be able to deal with it when we do?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, thinking about what Will had said.

Yes, they had both been bruised by some things in their lives, Will more so than him. Will's bruises were more recent,and infinitely painful.

Will felt betrayed by people he'd thought were his friends. Sherlock had felt that way before, but his betrayal had been much less than Will's. He hadn't been framed for murders he didn't commit by someone he'd looked at as a friend.

No, that kind of betrayal went bone-deep, and it was something that he hadn't experienced. Sherlock hoped that he never would; that kind of pain would be hard to bear.

But somehow, Will had dealt with it, and come out stronger on the other side. Sherlock admired him for that; such strength was an amazing testament to the kind of man Will was.

The kind of man who he was proud to have by his side. The kind of man who he was proud to have fallen in love with. Bruises and all, Will was one in a million. No, not just that, Sherlock corrected himself. Will was one in a lifetime, a completely unique person.

And somehow, _he_ was the one who had been lucky enough to win this man's heart. Even with all of his own bruises, Will still saw something in him.

In spite of his own pain, Will was still reaching out.

How many other people would do that? Sherlock didn't think he knew anyone who was as selfless as Will, who would reach out to another person to offer them comfort they perceived was needed even when they themselves were hurting. Will was truly an incredible man.

He was the strongest person Sherlock had ever known. He had survived so much, and he was still strong and beautiful and unmarred, still standing tall.

Of course, he knew that Will carried inner scars from this, and probably always would. He hated the people who had put those scars there; he had already made a vow to himself that he would do all he could to see that they paid for their crimes. With their freedom, if possible.

He would see to it that Will's bruises, his scars, everything those bastards had made him suffer, was avenged. He would make sure of that, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Will's question was a good one, and he wasn't quite sure how to answer it. But he had to. He had to let the other man know that he believed they would be together, and stay together, even if there were times when they managed to bruise each other.

Sherlock took a deep breath, speaking slowly.

"We may not always have a smooth path ahead of us, Will," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Yes, there may be times when we hurt each other, without meaning to."

He went on, before Will had a chance to speak. "But I think those times will be few and far between, and I think that when they happen, we'll be able to soothe those bruises and repair any damage. I think that we'll be able to fix the hurt. I really do."

Will was silent for a few moments before nodding in agreement, his face serious. "I do, too. I don't think either of us would ever hurt the other one deliberately."

Sherlock reached out to touch Will's face, to smooth his hair back.

"I'd never do that, and I don't believe that you would, either," he said, his voice very soft. "We'll always be careful not to bruise each other, Will."

"And if we do, then we'll just have to soothe those bruises until they go away," Will said, the soft smile that curved his lips going directly to Sherlock's heart. "I think we'll be able to manage that. And I don't think we'll have to do it very often."

Sherlock nodded, his gaze meeting Will's as they slowly leaned towards each other. When their lips met, all thought of bruises left his mind.

All he could think of was Will, and the moment that they were sharing.


	25. Change in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The changes in Will's life are already starting -- and he can't wait for them to grow and develop.

He was leaving Wolf Trap. He was moving to London.

Everything had been packed and the movers had been here; Winston was in his dog carrier, ready to go to the airport with them. Everything was in readiness.

He was actually leaving, after so long here. He was going to London, to start a whole new life with Sherlock. It didn't seem possible that one phase of his life had come to an end, a phase that had ended not with a bang but with a whimper, with an ignominious defeat.

Will sighed as he looked out over the woods in front of his house, the house that soon wouldn't be his any more. He was sure that it would sell quickly.

The was a change in the air.

Not just in the air, but all around him. His life was about to change in a big way; he was taking a step in a whole new direction.

And not only by changing the place that he was living in, but also being in a relationship for the first time in his life. That was an even bigger change for him than moving to London, Will told himself with a wry smile. And a much scarier one.

Of all the things he'd thought that he would do in his life, being in a relationship wasn't one of them. He'd resigned himself to thinking that it would never happen.

He'd have thought that he would move away from Wolf Trap and start an entirely new life somewhere else by himself, but never that he would find love with a wonderful man and leave Wolf Trap in his company. That made what was happening somewhat of a triumph.

This was something he'd longed for all of his life, it he was honest. A good relationship with someone he loved, and who loved him in return.

That was something he had never expected.

Sherlock had driven into Vienna -- he was surprised that the man knew how to drive a car on American roads -- and would be back in an hour or so.

They had to leave for the airport in less than two hours, and he hoped that his boyfriend wouldn't get caught up in anything that would make them late. He didn't want to miss this flight; he suddenly wanted to get out of Wolf Trap as quickly as possible.

Yes, there were things that he would miss about this place, but all in all, he was glad to be leaving all of this behind. It was time to start anew.

It was exhilarating. And more than a little frightening.

But it was a step that he had to take, Will told himself firmly, a step that he couldn't pull back from. This was what he had to do, what he _wanted_ to do.

There was no reason to back away from this change. It was something that had probably been coming for a long time, for longer than he'd realized. He hadn't known it until he'd ended up in prison, but his life in Wolf Trap had been on a downward spiral.

He'd thought that he was happy here, but now, in the clear, cold light of day, he was discovering that had never really been true.

He had _told_ himself that he was happy and contented, but deep inside, he had always wanted more. And now, he was finally getting what he'd yearned for.

A relationship. A lover. A man who he was madly in lvoe with, and who loved him back just as fiercely. He was no longer on the outside looking in, no longer wishing for something that he was sure he could never have. Now he had it, and he wasn't letting go.

This was his chance to have everything he'd always dreamed of -- everything that Hannibal had assured him that he wasn't built for.

That bastard. Always trying to make him doubt himself and his desires.

And all the while, he'd been plotting to frame Will for murder, to put him behind bars so he could be _studied_ lime some kind of lab experiment.

He didn't want to think about what Hannibal had planned for him. He was sure that his former friend intended to keep him in jail for the rest of his days, to drive him mad. Hannibal wanted to make him a victim, to take everything from him and then sit back and laugh about it.

What hurt the most was knowing that he'd fallen into that trap, that he had believed Hannibal was his friend for so long. He'd been a fool. A blind, stupid fool.

Well, he was a fool no longer, and never would be again.

The change that was in the air would benefit him in every way, Will told himself. He no longer had a place here in Wolf Trap. Those days were over.

It was past time for him to turn his back on this place, and try to retain only the good memories of his life here. He would miss some things about it, that was true. But nothing could last forever, and change was good in a lot of ways.

Well, some things could last forever, he thought with a smile. His relationship with Sherlock would last. He didn't doubt that for even one second.

The way he felt about Sherlock would never fade, never die away. His heart seemed to swell in his chest every time he thought of his boyfriend; there was so much love there, love that he really hadn't begun to express to its fullest, simply because he didn't know how.

But he would learn, he promised himself. That was another change he would make in his life. He wouldn't hold back his emotions any longer. He would learn to let them out.

And in the process, he would become a happier man.

Being happy. _Truly_ happy, not just content -- or at least telling himself that he was content. That would be another change for him.

For once in his life, he would finally be able to feel that he could have the happiness he'd always wanted and had never thought that he would achieve. It was already within his grasp; just being with Sherlock gave him a happiness like nothing he'd ever experienced.

That happiness would just keep growing, Will told himself with a smile. The change in the air wouldn't stop with that, but would continue on into the rest of his life.

He couldn't wait for those changes to start, and for his new life to begin.


	26. Taken To Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has an unexpected -- and unwanted -- encounter with Hannibal Lecter.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he walked down the street towards the parking lot where he'd left Will's car; he had come into the town of Vienna to get a few last-minute things. He was on his way back to the house now, to spend a last hour or so there with Will before they left.

He had never been as happy to leave any place as he was to be leaving Wolf Trap. It was past time that WIll got out of here and started a new life, a life that was better suited to him and would make him happy. That was never going to happen here.

And now that they had found each other, they would explore that new life together. He would try his best to make Will happy every day of their lives; he might have to work at it, but he was determined to bring Will all of the light and warmth and love that he had never known.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes."

He looked up as a man blocked his path, a frown marring his brow. He hadn't expected to meet anyone here that he knew, or who knew that he'd come into town. The only way this man could have known he would be here was if he'd been watching them.

It had to be Lecter, of course. Who else would step so boldly into his path to confront him? He had never met the man before, but he had seen pictures, so he knew well enough who was standing here in front of him, blocking the way to the car.

He studied the man in front of him, not liking what he saw. Thin lips, small, squinty eyes, pale skin. He was wiry, and looked as though he had a lot of strength, but Sherlock was sure that if it came down to a fight, he himself would be the ultimate victor.

He hated this man, with a bitter hatred that he was sure would only grow with time. He wanted Hannibal Lecter behind bars, where he belonged -- where he had tried to keep Will. This man was the criminal, not Will. He deserved to be in disgrace, to lose his freedom.

This man was pure evil. Sherlock knew it, and he was on his guard.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter." He kept his voice low and matter-of-fact; this man didn't intimidate him. Lecter only made him angry; he was furious that this bastard had apparently been watching Will's house, and that he had the nerve to confront either of them.

"I believe that you are taking Will to London with you. That is not acceptable," Hannibal told him, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "I cannot let you do that, Mr. Holmes. I am Will's psychiatrist, and he is an unstable man. He belongs here, under my care."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, holding his anger in check with difficulty. "You mean that you believe Will should be in prison, where you can keep an eye on him and try to drive him insane and destroy him for your own amusement. That isn't going to happen."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed further, and Sherlock could see nothing in those dark depths but evil. He knew that this man meant Will harm; he could _feel_ the malevolence that seemed to seep from him. He almost took a step back, not wanting to be too close to such evil.

But he didn't move back; he stood his ground, refusing to back down. If Hannibal thought that he would be able to intimidate him, then he'd be sadly disappointed. Sherlock gazed back at him, keeping his features impassive; he wouldn't reveal what he was feeling.

He felt nothing but revulsion.

He might not have been able to prove it yet, but he _knew_ that this man was the Chesapeake Ripper that Will had been searching for. He was absolutely positive that Hannibal was the killer; he could see it in those eyes, feel it in that penetrating gaze.

Hannibal Lecter was a dangerous man .No one was safe around him; Sherlock could feel that he was a completely conscienceless individual, someone who cared nothing for human life, no matter how much he might protest to the contrary.

Will would never have been safe around him, even if Hannibal hadn't plotted to frame him for murder. He was glad that he was getting Will out of this place, out of the situation he'd been in, and was taking him across the ocean to a place of relative safety for him.

He wasn't going to let this man get anywhere near Will again. He would protect his boyfriend at any cost -- and he would make sure that Lecter was never able to poison Will's mind again. He was sure that this man was a large part of the reason why Will was so unsure of himself.

Lecter was poison. He didn't doubt that for one second. And that poison wasn't going to be allowed to affect Will any more. Will didn't belong to this man; he never had. He'd always been his own person, capable of making his own choices.

This evil bastard had tried to control Will, to take his choices away from him. He'd even succeeded in taking Will's freedom away. But that was in the past, Sherlock told himself firmly. He was never going to hurt Will again. Those days were over.

He would do what he had to do to keep Will safe.

"Will belongs to me." He could see that Hannibal had to grind out the words between gritted teeth; he was apparently a lot more angry about Will leaving with Sherlock than they had realized he would be. "You have no right to spirit him away."

"I"m not 'spiriting him away,'" Sherlock said blandly, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't going to let the angry, overblown bluster of this idiot intimidate him. And really, Hannibal's rage was amusing. He was like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. "It was his decision to leave."

"Will was born to be mine," Hannibal told him, his voice low and menacing. "I hold the keys to who he is. I can be the instrument of his salvation, if I so choose. Or his destruction. Taking him from me will only result in his being destroyed that much sooner."

"He'll be destroyed if he stays here," Sherlock replied, his voice clipped. He was growing angry now; how _dare_ this arrogant, heinous bastard claim that he could do anything good for Will? He was evil, rotted to the core; he was nothing but a sick, twisted miasma.

"Will belongs here with me," Hannibal said, his voice returning to the even keel that it had been on when he had first spoken. "Will was born to be mine -- born to be my slave. He exists for my pleasure, Mr. Holmes. And I will make sure that he fulfills that role."

With those words, and another glare at Sherlock, he turned and walked away.

Sherlock merely stood there, looking after him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had never wanted to hit someone so badly in his life; he wanted to run after Lecter, punch him, and make that horribly ugly face even uglier with some well-placed bruises.

Will was no one's slave, he fumed silently as he trudged towards the car. He was his own man, capable of making his own decisions. He wasn't the sort of person who could be easily manipulated; the only reason that had been done before was because he had been ill.

An illness that had been exacerbated by Lecter, Sherlock told himself angrily, slamming the car door and jamming the key into the ignition. What Lecter had done, letting Will's meningitis go untreated, could have _killed_ him. Will was lucky to be alive.

Sherlock stepped on the gas, then braked quickly to keep from hitting another car that zoomed by on the road. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep breath. Anger wasn't going to do him any good. He had to put it aside.

And anyway, he had won. Will was leaving with him.

Will would never have to face that monster again; He was being taken to safety, to a place where that bastard couldn't harm him. And if Lecter dared to follow up on his oblique threats, if he dared to come after Will, then Sherlock would stop him. Permanently.

He would have no qualms about that, none at all. He _hated_ Hannibal Lecter, and knew that the world would be a better place without him. The man was vile; he had framed Will for murder, and Sherlock had every intention of proving that.

But for now, he thought as he eased the car into traffic and turned onto the road that led back to Wolf Trap, he and Will, along with Winston, were going to London. Will was going to start a whole new life with him -- and it would be much, much better than the life he was leaving behind.


	27. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is relieved to have finally emerged from a long tunnel of darkness into the bright light of a new life.

He was finally doing it. He was moving on.

Will leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. The plane had been aloft for a little over an hour, and they still had quite a long flight ahead of them. But he didn't mind that; flying had never bothered him. He just felt relieved to be on his way to a new life.

He was glad to be leaving Wolf Trap behind. He'd had a good life there -- at least until Hannibal had come into it and everything had been turned upside down -- but it was time to leave that life behind. It was time for him to look forward, not back.

And not only did he have a new life, but he had a relationship with someone who loved him. That was an unexpected gift, one that made his heart sing and his soul soar. He had never expected to find love, but he had, against all the odds.

It was past time for him to move on. If he'd had the courage, he would have left Wolf Trap when Hannibal had first come into his life and he'd had the feeling that there was something ominous about the man, something dangerous that he should run from.

But no, he'd been stupid and had stayed there, and had let Hannibal draw him into a web of danger and deceit. That had been his own fault; his instincts had told him that Hannibal was evil, but he hadn't listened to them. He'd never make that mistake again.

The next time his instincts screamed at him, he'd pay attention.

He didn't need to think about that now, he told himself firmly. It was water under the bridge; he was leaving all of that behind him. His life would be in London now, with Sherlock. He would have a whole new place to explore and learn, a whole new life to get used to.

It wouldn't be that hard, Will told himself. Not when he had someone by his side who knew the city well, who would be able to show him around and help him to get acclimatized. He hadn't had that when he'd first moved to Wolf Trap.

He would still remember how lonely and scared he'd been when he had first come there, living in a hotel room until he'd found the house. It had been everything he had wanted at the time, and he'd jumped at the chance to buy it and fix it up.

That house had felt like his safety net, his refuge, for so long that it had been a wrench to leave it. But he knew that he would no longer feel safe there. Hannibal would always be around, and he would never feel that he could trust anyone connected with his former friend.

Which was pretty much everyone he knew. He had to let them all fade into the background of his life, along with all that had happened in the past. They were no longer a part of his life; that chapter was a closed book, one that he didn't want to read again.

London would be a new experience for him, and even though he wasn't entirely sure that he was going to like living in a crowded city, he'd get used to it. Maybe he and Sherlock could take weekend trips into the country to get away from it all.

He was going to look on the bright side of things.

There was no reason not to do that, Will mused. He was, after all, a very lucky man not only to have his freedom, but to have found love along with that. He was lucky to have someone like Sherlock in his life, a man who loved him and believed in him.

He turned his head to look at Sherlock, a small smile on his lips. He knew that his boyfriend didn't sleep much, but the last few days had been exhausting for both of them, and Sherlock was asleep now, his head turned slightly towards the window.

Will loved how Sherlock looked when he slept; he was somehow vulnerable, younger. Not that he didn't already look young, Will thought to himself. It was hard to believe that Sherlock was in his early thirties; he didn't look like a man who had lived for that many years.

He was a fascinating mix of young and old, experience and innocence, sweetness and cynicism. And Will loved him. It had been hard for him to admit at first that he'd fallen in love so quickly and so completely, but he had. And there was no reason to deny it.

Wonder of wonders, Sherlock actually felt the same way about him. _That_ was the hardest thing for him to believe; that someone like Sherlock could actually love him, could care about him so fiercely and want to protect him.

No one else had ever felt like that about him. No one had ever wanted to protect him, to keep him safe from anyone and anything that would do him harm. No one else had ever wanted to be his shield, to stand as a sentinel between him and whatever fate threw into his path.

He loved. And he _was_ loved.

Will was still trying to wrap his head around that; it felt so new, so different from anything he'd ever known before. But he wasn't going to let go of this feeling, or give it up. It was part of moving on, of starting a new life and carving out a new niche for himself.

How was it possible for someone like him to find love? He'd never believed that he would; he had resigned himself long ago to spending his life alone. By the time he'd met Sherlock, alone hadn't seemed like such a bad thing -- but then, he hadn't thought that he had much of a future then.

Sherlock had not only given him love. Sherlock had given him hope, a hope that he'd thought he would never feel again. Sherlock had thrown open the windows of that dark place he'd been in and had let in the bright light, brought sunshine and joy into his life.

The first time they'd kissed, all of that darkness had melted away into the background as though it didn't exist. Sherlock had opened up new doors for him; it was thanks to this man that he was finally able to move on with his life, to look forward to the future.

He would share that future with Sherlock. He couldn't wait for it to start; it seemed bright and shiny, and he had no doubt that the two of them would be happy together. He was going to make sure they were happy, that they had love and laughter in their lives every day.

It had been too long since he'd laughed, too long since he had let himself feel unadulterated joy. Hannibal had taken all of that joy from his life -- if much of it had even been there. He'd been a living a dark, uninteresting, grey life for what seemed like ages.

Well, that grey life was gone now. It had been replaced by happiness.

He was moving on, from darkness into light. He had left that long tunnel behind him now; he had made it through to the other side, and Sherlock was his reward for all that he had been through. Sherlock was his light, his hope, his future.

He was going to hold on to that future with everything he had, Will promised himself. He didn't know just how things were going to work out, but he was going to believe that they would. Whatever he ended up doing in London, he would throw himself into it completely.

He was moving on, in the best way possible. He was going to love the life that he and Sherlock led together, and throw himself into it with all the passion that he'd expended on the cases he'd worked on with the FBI. This would be the same in some ways, and different in others.

There was no reason why this life that he and Sherlock were moving into wouldn't work for them. They loved each other, and they wanted a life together, as a couple. Neither of them had lived a life that included any significant others before, but they could do it.

He could do anything as long as the man he loved was by his side, Will told himself, gazing lovingly at Sherlock. This man had given him the gift of a new life -- as well as giving Will his heart. He would keep that heart safe, and cherish it always.

Will closed his eyes, settling back into his seat with a smile on his face.


	28. Hopes, Dreams and Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is amazed to realize that all of his hopes, dreams, and desires have been fulfilled by one special person.

The plan was circling. It would land soon, Sherlock knew, smiling as he peered out of the window. Ah, but it was good to be back in London, good to be on his on ground again. Well, it would be when they touched the ground and the plane had safely landed.

He looked over at the man beside him, smiling as he did so. He was returning to London with so much more in his life than he'd left with. He hadn't gone to America expecting to find love, but he had, and he was eternally grateful for it.

He and Will would make a new start here, building a life together. Before he'd met this man, he had begun to think that he was destined to be alone, that he would spend the rest of his life living for his work and nothing else, that it would have to enough.

Now, he had so much more. He had a man he loved, a person who wanted to spend their life with him. All of his dreams were starting to come true, dreams that he hadn't dared to admit to himself he'd had. Dreams that he had always tried to push away from him.

But now, instead of pushing his dreams away, he could embrace them. He could lose that feeling of being some kind of freak, of always being different from everyone else. He wasn't so different, not really. People just thought he was.

He wanted the same things that everyone else wanted -- well, at least some of them. He wanted someone to love, someone who would love him back. He wanted a partner, someone he could trust. He wanted safety and security for his heart.

That was what everyone wanted, and he was no different from anyone else in that respect. He had always hidden those needs well -- sometimes even from himself. He'd sublimated them until he had managed to almost convince himself that they didn't exist.

But they did. And now, miraculously, he'd managed to fulfill them, in a way that he'd never thought possible. He hadn't even dared to dream that there was someone like Will in the world, someone who seemed to fulfill all of his hopes and dreams and desires.

Will was .... everything. He was the most amazing man Sherlock had ever known.

WIll was all that he wanted, all that he could have ever dreamed of. It still amazed him that Will felt the same way about him, that his feelings were returned. He really hadn't expected that. He had thoght that he would come home alone, and yean for Will from afar.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case. Will had known as well as Sherlock did that his life in Wolf Trap was over, that he had to pull up stakes and start elsewhere. Sherlock knew that it had been a traumatic experience for Will, but it had been for the best.

He would start over here, and he wouldn't be alone any more. That had been one of the worst things about what had happened to Will, and it had torn at Sherlock's heart. To know that Will had been through so much on his own, completely alone and defenseless.

Oh, people had _said_ that they were his friends, of course. But that hadn't been strictly true, had it? Those friend had been fairweather, at best. None of them had worked to try to prove Will's innocence, only to make it seem that he was guilty.

Some of them might truly have believed in his innocence. Some of them might have wanted to help him. But in the end, they hadn't. They had knuckled under to Lecter and Crawford's wishes, and they had helped to railroad Will into a nightmare.

Sherlock had no respect for any of them. If they had truly been Will's friends, truly cared about him, then they would have worked tirelessly to prove his innocence. They wouldn't have simply gone along with Lecter and Crawford. They would have worked _for_ Will, not against him.

It was just as well that Will was away from them now.

Will deserved better than that, Sherlock thought, shaking his head. He deserved friends who would be loyal to him, who would be there for him. He deserved people by his side who wouldn't turn around and walk away, people who truly cared about him.

Well, he had that now, Sherlock told himself firmly. He might only have two of those friends, himself and Mrs. Hudson, but they would hold firm. They would always be there for Will, whenever he needed them, through thick and thin.

And in Sherlock, he had more than a friend. He had a lover, a partner, someone who would always hold him close to his heart and keep him safe.

Was that what Will wanted? Sherlock asked hismelf, looking over at the handsome man sleeping beside him. Did Will want that partnership? It seemed that he did; Will had given every indication that he was just as committed to this new relationship was Sherlock was.

Sherlock believed that he was. Will wasn't the sort of person to say that he was interested and then change his mind. Once he made a commitment, he would stick to it. He was a man of honor, one of the few who Sherlock had ever met.

Will was one in a million. No, Sherlock corrected himself, he was completely unique. There wasn't another person quite like Will Graham in all of the universe.

And this wonderful, beautiful man was _his_. His to love and cherish, his to hold, his to kiss, his to be with for the rest of their lives. Just the thought made hope rise within him, a hope for the future that he'd long since given up on ever feeling.

He and Will were going to make a go of this. They were going to have a good relationship, one that might be filled with trial and error, as they were both so new at it, but one that would also be filled with laughter and love. He didn't doubt that for one moment.

It might not always be easy, but they would make it work.

Now that Will was in his life, Sherlock couldn't imagine a life without him. How long would it take for him to forget the life he'd lived in the past, the loneliness that had always semed to be his due? He hoped that the memories of that life wouldn't linger for long.

He didn't want to remember the loneliness he'd always lived with. Even when he'd had a flatmate, who he had considered a good friend -- his _only_ friend, really -- he had always been lonely. There had never been anyone special in his life.

There had been moments of attraction -- but those hadn't lasted long. Either the object of that attraction had let him down in some way, or they'd turned out to be incredibly bring, and not the person he thought they were. He had always been disappointed in the end.

With Will, he knew that he wouldn't be. Will would never let him down, or bore him, or make him feel that he had made a mistake in judging character. Sherlock was confident that their relationship would be one for the ages, one of the great loves of all time.

Was he being ridiculously romantic? Maybe, he admitted to himself. But he had so many hopes and dreams for his future with Will, hopes and dreams that he was sure would come true. He had taken a leap of faith, and he was sure to be rewarded for that.

So many hopes, dreams, and desires, all of which he was sure would be fulfilled. This was going to be a new chapter in his own life, as well as in Will's. The two of them would meld together in a way that would never be broken, never fade away or wilt on the vine.

They would only grow stronger with time. He truly believed that.

Will was all that he'd ever dreamed of, all that he'd ever hoped for. He had never really let himself dare to hope that he would be involved with someone like Will; it had seemed like an impossible dream, one that would never have a chance of coming true.

And now, somehow, miraculously, that dream had come to pass. Will Graham was his; Will was here with him, and he hadn't had to be coerced into it. He was here of his own free will, not simply because he hadn't had any other choice but to be here.

He was here because he _wanted_ to be. Because he loved Sherlock, and because he, too, believed in their future together. Will also had hopes and dreams and desires that he wanted fulfilled. And Sherlock was going to do his best to see that they were.

He wanted to make Will happy, each and every day of their lives. He wanted to wake in the morning with a smile on his face, just knowing that Will was here with him, a part of his life, loving him and choosing to be with him. Knowing that Will had given him his heart.

And his heart belonged to Will, he thought with a smile. For now, and for always. He couldn't imagine caring for another person in this way. Now that he had finally found love, after thinking that it would never come to him, he knew that he would never give it up.

All of his hopes, dreams, and desires seemed to have been answered in one person, and he'd never thought that could be possible. Finding one man who could mean everything to him was quite a coup, Sherlock said to himself. It was probably a chance in a million.

Or had it been fate, and not chance? He and Will had discussed that possibility, and he had to wonder if it was true. Normally, he would eschew the existence of fate, and scoff at it. But more nad more, he thought that fate was indeed taking a hand in his life.

It dind't matter if it was destiny, fate, or anything else, Sherlock told himself as he put his seat belt on and leaned back, preparing for the plane to land. Will was in his life, and all of his hopes and dreams were coming true. That was the only thing he really needed to know.


	29. Outside the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock knows that he and Will are never going to feel that they're on the outside looking in again now that they've found each other.

This was it. They were home. _Their_ home.

Sherlock sighed happily as he leaned back on the couch, letting himself relax. Will seemed to love the flat; he was already unpacking, and he seemed to be at home here, just as Sherlock had hoped he would be. Even Winston seemed to be at home and happy.

The dog was sitting in his dog bed next to the fireplace, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel that somehow, he belonged here, as though this had always been his home.

Was that something that had been missing from the flat before? A dog? No, it wasn't something that simple; it was more. There had been a _presence_ missing, Will's presence. The presence of someone he loved and wanted to spend his life with.

He'd had a roommate before, but that hadn't been a romantic involvement. It had been a friendship, nothing more, and one that had eventually fallen apart.

If there had been any romantic feelings there, they hadn't been on his side. But now .... his heart seemed to be filled to overflowing with romantic feelings. He couldn't look at Will and not want to kiss him, or take him into his arms and hold him.

Was that normal? Did everyone feel that way about their significant others?

It didn't really matter whether they did or not, Sherlock told himself with a smile. All that mattered was how he and Will felt about each other.

For the first time in his life, he felt as though he _belonged_. He had spent his life feeling like that child who was always on the outside looking in, pressing his face to the window and seeing the happiness within, but never being a part of it.

Now, he ahd that happiness for his own, and he didn't intend to let go of it. He was no longer on the other side of the window, outside of all the light and joy.

Well, now that light and joy belonged to him, and he intended to bask in it. He hoped that Will felt the same way; as far as he could tell, his boyfriend had always been on the other side of the window, as well. He and Sherlock had dealt with many of the same experiences.

it hurt him to think that anyone could have rejected Will in the way that he himself had experienced so many times. But then, most people were idiots.

How could anyone not want Will? He was so incredibly beautiful.

He couldn't look at Will without wanting him. It was an odd sensation, to know that he desired someone. It was something he'd never felt before.

Or had he only not _let_ himself feel it? Sherlock mused. He might have been able to desire someone before, but he'd simply turned away from those sorts of feelings, refusing to let himself admit that he was susceptible to them.

He'd never _wanted_ to desire anyone before. He'd never wanted to let emotions get in the way. They were, as he'd so often said, not an advantage.

But he hadn't been able to stop himself. The moment he had seen Will, something that clicked inside him, and his heart had turned over. He would no more have been able to stop himself from falling head over heels that he would be able to stop breathing.

And now, miracle of miracles, Will was here in the flat, living with him. All of his belongings that they had decided to have shipped over wouldn't be here for another week or so, but that didn't matter. He had what was most important to him here already.

He was no longer that lonely child on the outside looking in, Sherlock told himself. He no longer had his face pressed to the window, wanting what he couldn't have.

Had Will felt that way, too? Had he been the lonely child, the outsider who never fit in, always feeling as if he was on the outside looking in and would never be able to embrace that light and joy? If so, then Sherlock was even more glad that they'd found each other.

He couldn't bear the idea of his beloved Will ever feeling lonely or unwanted. He would make sure that Will knew he was loved and desired, every day for the rest of their lives.

And _he_ would feel the same way.

He knew that he'd be happy for the rest of his life with Will by his side. How could he not be? He would be with the man he loved.

Maybe their relationship wouldn't always be easy, Sherlock reflected. He supposed that they would have some arguments; all couples seemed to have disagreements, and he didn't doubt that he and Will would be any different. They wouldn't agree all the time.

But that would be dreadfully boring, he thought with a smile. A little disagreement now and then would add a bit of spice to their relationship.

As long as the disagreements weren't serious ones, they would more than likely be good for the continuity of their relationship. No couple could ever go without arguing, as far as he knew; if they did, then that meant they were slipping into apathy.

Sherlock never wanted his relationship with Will to be like that. If they argued, it meant that they cared passionately about what they shared.

He wouldn't let them take it for granted. Not ever.

Will came down the stairs from the second bedroom, looking around him with a smile on his face. "This is even better than I thought it would be," he said softly, moving to the couch and sitting beside Sherlock. "I love it here, Sherlock. It's great."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Sherlock said softly, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "I want this to be a good life for you, Will. For us."

"It will be," Will answered, his voice equally soft. "I've known it ever since we stepped off the plane. I don't feel like an outsider here, like I have to work to fit in. I expected that. But it doesn't feel that way. It already feels like I belong. Like I've always belonged here."

"You do," Sherlock told him, a lump forming in his throat. It was amazing how Will and he always seemed to think along the same lines. "And you always will."

Neither of them would have to be those lonely children who had stood outside the window any longer. They had both found where they belonged, both come inside to the warmth and love and laughter and joy that they had always wanted and had never managed to find until now.

And with any luck, Sherlock thought as he twined his fingers through Will's, they would stay there.


	30. Bright Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has never been good with changes, but he knows that the recent ones were badly needed.

This was most definitely a change. A big one.

Will looked around the upstairs bedroom of the flat, the room that now held all of the belongings he'd brought with him. It didn't look like _his_ yet, but it would. And it was furnished, which meant that he hadn't had to keep his old furniture.

The bed was larger and more comfortable than his old one had been, and the other furniture was actually more comfortable than what he was used to, as well.

So, the changes so far had all been good ones. He was having a hard time getting used to the noise of the city; even through the closed window, he could still hear cars going by in the street. But he was sure that he would grow accustomed to that, in time.

There were so many good things about these changes, he told himself.

He would no longer have to drive twenty minutes to go into the nearest town. Everything would be so much more convenient here, and he'd like that a lot.

There was a grocery store right on the corner, and Sherlock had already told him what was close by in the neighborhood. A pizzeria, a coffee shop, an Italian restaurant, two Chinese takeout places, a pet store, a used bookshop .... so many things he wanted to see.

And, of course, the biggest change was that he now lived with someone. Not just someone, Will corrected himself. He was living with the man he'd fallen in love with, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The man who had captured his heart.

Of all the changes he'd ever thought he would make in his life, that hadn't been one of them. But it was the best change of them all.

It was all a little frightening, but exhilarating at the same time.

He didn't usually deal all that well with changes, Will mused, but he seemed to be doing okay with these. Maybe it was because he'd been ready to make those changes. It had been time for them; he needed to get a fresh start, to embark on a whole new life.

Well, he'd definitely done that, he told himself, glancing around the room again. And it felt good. He was no longer trying to cling to the past.

That hadn't been healthy for him, and he knew it. He was much better off being where he was now, even if it took a little getting used to. He needed this new life -- and he needed the love and security that went along with it. Life was looking good, and the future was bright.

And getting brighter every moment, he thought with a smile as he headed downstairs.


	31. Say Goodbye To Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is overjoyed that the flat isn't so silent any longer.

His home wasn't depressingly silent any more.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that; he loved knowing that there was someone else in the flat, someone who he loved and wanted to be here. Will's presence made the flat seem even more like home than it already did; having Will here made it feel _alive_.

it had never felt like this when he'd had a roommate. It had been less silent then, but that noise had usually been annoying. He hadn't particularly liked it.

The sounds that Will brought to the flat were .... well, _comforting_ , in a way. They were the sounds of someone settling into a new place, and yet, even though he was still becoming accustomed to the flat, it already felt as though he belonged here.

It hadn't felt that way with a roommate. Not at all.

But Will wasn't just a roommate, Sherlock reminded himself. Will was his boyfriend, his partner, the man he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He could say goodbye to silence now that he had someone here in the flat with him, Sherlock mused. But he didn't mind that. Silence had started to grate on his nerves, and it was nice to feel that the place had some life and light and movement in it.

And conversation. It was one of the things that he had missed the most. With Will, the conversations were always interesting, too. He had nothing to complain about in that arena. Will stimulated his mind, as well as his senses. He was beautiful _and_ intelligent.

In fact, Will was everything he had ever wanted in a man. He had never really thought about what he would look for, but he knew that Will was all of those things, and more.

And Will was _his_. His to love, for the rest of their lives.

He still couldn't believe that he'd been so blessed by fate. He hadn't expected to find someone to love; he'd resigned himself to living alone for all of his life, and to ending his days as a virgin. But that obviously hadn't been intended to happen, and he was glad of it.

He was more than happy to say goodbye to the silence that had seemed to reign here before. Now, there would be happy voices to fill that silence.

His voice, and Will's. Even Winston would add to it, Sherlock thought, smiling as he looked over at the dog sleeping in his basket by the fireplace. A home, a lover, and a dog, he thought, his smile widening. Just as most people dreamed of. What everyone seemed to want.

And now, it had become what _he_ wanted.


	32. Filled With Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't want to lose the feeling of light and happiness that Will has brought to his life.

Sherlock glanced at the stairway that led upstairs to Will's bedroom, wondering when the other man was going to come back down to the living room.

He wasn't going to rush Will, of course. There was no reason to. He had to give the younger man time to get his things unpacked and settled in. But there were so many things he wanted to ask Will, so much that he wanted to show him.

He wanted to get all of Will's first impressions.

Not only about the flat itself, but about the city. Of course, he wouldn't be able to do that until they'd gone out and done a bit of exploring, Sherlock thought with a soft laugh. He hadn't really given Will time to do much of anything quite yet.

He just wanted to know that Will thought well of the flat, at the moment. He wanted to know that Will felt he had made the right choice by coming here.

He'd already brought so much light and hope into the place; Sherlock could feel that just by looking around him. Somehow, the flat looked different with Will here, even if he wasn't actually in the room at the moment. It just felt more .... well, _alive_.

He didn't know why, but everything around him seemed filled with light and joy and hope since Will had first entered the flat with him.

All it took was the presence of someone he loved to make this place feel more like a home than it ever had. Oh, it had been pleasant enough to live in by himself, and then when he'd briefly had a flatmate. But now, it was a different atmosphere entirely.

Love seemed to make everything around him look sparkling and fresh.

There was undeniably more happiness in the air, a feeling that anything could happen, that life was looking up and surprises were just around the corner.

He'd never felt like this before, not at any point in his life. Nothing and no one had ever made him feel that there was so much opportunity, and so much happiness crowding into his life. He could almost _feel_ that happiness surrounding him. 

How could it be possible for one person to make him feel this way?

Did Will feel the same way? Sherlock couldn't help asking himself that question, and hoping that the answer was a resounding _yes_.

He wanted Will to feel this bright wash of light and joy, this feeling of anticipation and optimism. He wanted Will to be as happy with this arrangement as he himself was.

He would ask Will how he felt about it, Sherlock promised himself. Later.

At the moment, he simply wanted to revel in the fact that Will was here, and that they were together. He'd managed to get Will safely away from that toxic environment he had been trapped in for far too long, away from that hideous Lecter monster.

Will was his now. His to love and protect. His responsibility, his partner. They had sealed that deal before they had even left Wolf Trap.

And they would only grow closer. Sherlock was sure of that.

What he and Will shared was only going to grow and develop. He couldn't imagine anything coming between the two of them; Lecter might have tried if they had stayed in Wolf Trap, but they weren't there any longer. They were on Sherlock's turf now.

The light in their lives would wrap around them, keeping them safe and protected. Sherlock wasn't going to let anything threaten that light and the happiness it brought.

He'd never been this happy in his life. Even the brief euphoria that drugs had brought him at one time could never compare to the happiness he felt now, the happiness that came with having someone he loved in his life. This was the perfect high.

The kind of light that Will brought to his life could never be duplicated. He wanted to hold this light close to his heart forever, to treasure it always.

He had never known before that he was missing this light in his life, because he'd never had it. Even when he'd felt that he had friends, which were few and far between, he'd never felt like this, never felt truly and completely _loved_ and wanted.

Now, he did. And he never wanted that feeling to end.

As long as he was with Will, he knew that it wouldn't. And he intended to be with Will for the rest of his life. Sherlock couldn't see the two of them ever being torn apart -- and he certainly couldn't see himself ever not loving Will. Once he loved, it was forever.

He looked up at the ceiling, wondering when Will would come back downstairs. He needed to bask in more of that light, and he would welcome it with open arms.


	33. Worth Reaching For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His new life in London still feels like a dream to Will.

It all felt like a dream.

Had he really only left Wolf Trap that morning? Was this really London? Had he really uprooted his life, torn everything he'd thought that he was so comfortable with completely asunder, and started a new life in a new country, with a new relationship?

Yes, he had, Will told himself. And he was glad that he had done so. He had no regrets about being here with Sherlock, and starting a whole new life. None at all.

If he was in a dream, then he didn't want it to end. He wanted this dream to last for all of his life; being here in London with Sherlock, living in this flat, embarking on a loving relationship with someone he cared about with all of his heart.

That was probably the oddest part of it all, he mused.

He'd never thought that he would be in a relationship at all, let alone one with someone he'd fallen in love with so quickly. He hadn't thought it was possible.

Him? Fall in love? Will would have snorted at the very idea only a few months ago, before he'd fallen head over heels for Sherlock. But then, prison had changed a lot of his attitudes towards life, so maybe that had something to do with it.

He sighed as he sat down on his bed, looking around the room that was now his. It was comfortable and cozy, and he was sure that he'd like living here.

Sherlock was helping him find a new teaching job with the Scotland Yard Academy; within three days, he would have an interview with them, and if all worked out well, he could start teaching in the fall. Until then, he and Sherlock would work cases together.

It was still hard for Will to believe that after all he'd been through, after all the trouble that Hannibal and Jack Crawford had taken to frame him, he still had his head above water.

Sherlock had proven him innocent. That also seemed like a dream.

Scotland Yard hadn't seemed to be the least bit hesitant about telling him that they were interested in his work, and that they wanted to offer him a teaching position.

Will could only wonder how long it would be before they'd be asking him to go out into the field and use his empathic ability, just as he'd been persuaded to do for Crawford. He really didn't want to, but he was sure that he wouldn't be given a choice.

They could hold his past over his head if they wanted to.

So everything here wasn't going to be easy, and he wasn't going to be completely free. There would always be a sort of leash around his neck.

But it would be better than living in Wolf Trap and dealing with Hannibal and Crawford, wouldn't it? At least here, he had the chance for a decent life.

Here, he could at least put the pieces back together again.

He'd never have been able to do that in Wolf Trap -- _if_ he had ever been a free man again, which he was sure wouldn't have happened. No, Hannibal would have conjured up more damning "evidence" to keep him a prisoner forever.

Will closed his eyes, feeling a little sick at the thought. He had only narrowly escaped being in a prison cell for the rest of his life, manipulated by an evil monster.

But that hadn't come to pass. Instead, he was here, thanks to Sherlock.

His life in Wolf Trap was the dream, and his life here in London with Sherlock was the future. He had to look at it that way. The past was gone, over and done with.

He wanted to leave that past behind him, to let it all recede into memory. There were a few good memories from the past that he would always keep with him, but for the most part, it was all starting to assume the status of a dream, a vision. A _nightmare_.

That nightmare had felt as though it would never end; somehow, his dream of working for the FBI had turned horribly, horribly wrong, and there hadn't been a way out of his predicament.

Not until Sherlock had come along and held out a hand. Sherlock had been the only person to believe in him, the only person who had cared enough to prove his innocence, or even try to. Sherlock had won his loyalty, and along the way, his heart as well.

And now the two of them were embarking on a new life together, side by side. It seemed like a dream now, but Will knew that reality would sink in later.

The past would be the dream, and this would be his world.

This was the only dream he wanted to have from now on -- the one that he was living, the one that had somehow miraculously turned into real life. The dream of a future without feeling that he was being horribly manipulated and used.

That would be the only dream he had for a while, Will told himself. The dream of having what other people would see as a normal life.

He had never really had one of those in the past, but now he would, he thought to himself with a smile as he stood up and headed for the stairs. He would have a life with Sherlock, a relationship with a person he loved, and he would be secure and happy.

That was a dream worth reaching for, and one that he intended to hold on to.


	34. Emotional Outlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is thankful that he can finally express his emotions to someone who understands them.

Will hesitated before he entered the living room; Sherlock was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands, and he didn't know if his boyfriend was concentrating.

But he got the answer to that within just a few moments, when Sherlock looked up, smiled at him, and closed the book. He held out a hand to Will, and the look on his face couldn't be described as anything but welcoming. He looked happy to see Will there.

"Do you like the room?" he asked softly as Will approached him and took his hand before sitting down on the couch next to him. "I hope it's large enough for you."

"It's terrific," Will said softly, his gaze meeting Sherlock's.

He didn't know just ho how to put into words everything that he felt about what Sherlock was doing for him. It all suddenly seemed too much to take in all at once.

His emotions were all over the map; a part of him felt as though he was going to burst into tears, and yet another part wanted to smile and embrace Sherlock with profuse exclamations of thanks. Will didn't know which part was going to win out in the end.

Instead, he simply sat down on the couch, feeling a little lost and wondering just what he should say. How could he begin to put all of his emotions into words?

"Is something wrong, Will?" Sherlock's voice was very soft and gentle; that voice was what undid him. Just the sound of the worry and tenderness in those few words, the obvious care that Sherlock had for him -- it all came through, and made him break down.

Will didn't know what made the tears come, but suddenly, he was sobbing, his head in his hands, unable to stop crying and not knowing how to.

First Sherlock's hand was on his shoulder, then he was in the other man's arms.

All he could do was lean against Sherlock, the tears not stopping. Will didn't know why he was crying; he just .... _was_. And for some reason, it felt good.

When he could finally control his tears, he sniffled and sat up, gratefully taking the tissues that Sherlock silently handed him. He noticed that the other man's arm was still around his waist; Sherlock wasn't letting him go, and he wasn't pulling away.

"I'm s-sorry," he managed to say, feeling more than a little mortified. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's quite all right," Sherlock said softly, raising a hand to wipe at a few more tears that escaped from the corners of Will's eyes. "You've been under a lot of stress, Will."

"I don't think I ever let myself cry about everything that was happening in Wolf Trap," Will admitted, knowing in his heart that he'd found the reason for his tears.

That _was_ why he was crying. It had to be.

His emotions were everywhere, getting the best of him. He'd tried his best to contain them, to keep them under wraps, but he hadn't been able to. And it was no wonder, either. He'd been through a lot. Most people wouldn't have been able to deal with all the strain he'd been under.

Yet somehow, he had managed to do it -- and he had come out on top. He'd managed to get through it all, and emerge into the light at the end of the tunnel.

A very long, very dark tunnel.

He'd navigated through it, with Sherlock's help. Without the man sitting here beside him, he'd still be caught in that web, trapped in that tunnel, with no way out.

Without Sherlock, he would still be in prison. He would probably have been tried and given the death penalty, and he would have had to die with Hannibal watching and smiling, laughing at how he'd managed to frame an innocent man for his own heinous crimes.

But Sherlock had saved him from that. Sherlock had come to his rescue, and taken him away to a new life, a life that he knew would be a happy one.

Just the thought of what he'd so narrowly escape made the tears well to the surface again, tears of pain and fear that he'd held back for so long when he was living through that horrific time. Tears that he'd never let himself shed, for fear of giving in to his fears.

He'd thought that if he showed any kind of weakness, that if he let his emotions take over, that would be the end of him. And he'd had to be strong.

Now, he could let those emotions out. Finally.

Where would be be without Sherlock? He didn't even want to think about that. He just wanted to snuggle into his boyfriend's arms, and be thankful that he was there.

It was good to have an emotional outlet, Will told himself as he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. It was even better to have someone who understood, someone who wouldn't ridicule him for his emotions, and who would love him in spite of them.

It was good to be here, with Sherlock, safe in his arms. There was nowhere else that he wanted to be, no other place where he truly belonged.

There was nowhere else that he wanted to be, no other place where he truly belonged.


	35. New and Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving someone comfort is a whole new experience for Sherlock.

Well. This was certainly something he'd never done before.

Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling a little disoriented. He wasn't sure of just what he should do, now that Will was weeping in his arms.

He'd never seen himself as someone who could comfort others; he had always felt extremely awkward when people showed their emotions around him. But this wasn't just anyone. This was Will, the man he loved. He couldn't turn away from this emotional outburst.

He already had his arms around Will; all he could do was pull the other man closer, raising a hand to stroke his hair, to try and offer comfort.

"Will, it's all right," he found himself saying, uncertain as to just where the words were coming from. "You've been through a terrible time, and it's only natural that your emotions are close to the surface. But that's all behind you now, I promise."

Sherlock hoped that he was telling the truth. He wanted the bad times to be behind Will; he didn't want his boyfriend to deal with any more stress and worry.

Will had dealt with enough of that to last a lifetime.

"I-I'm sorry," Will managed to whisper, looking up at Sherlock with tears on his cheeks. "I don't know why I'm losing it all of a sudden. I shouldn't be."

"Of course you should," Sherlock said softly, reaching for a box of tissues on the table beside the couch and using them to gently wipe Will's tears away. "You've been through so much, Will. And you've been so strong through it all. You're entitled to a bit of a breakdown."

He wrapped his arms around Will, pulling him close, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against the silken softness of his boyfriend's hair.

Cuddling with someone on the couch. This was new for him.

But as he held Will close against him, Sherlock had to admit that he liked the feeling. He liked knowing that he could bring comfort to someone he cared for.

He'd never thought of himself in that way before. He had always been the person who stood on the outside looking in, away from all the emotion, holding himself aloof. He'd always thought was where he belonged; he'd never been comfortable dealing with emotions.

But everything was different with Will. This man turned his life upside down, made him see everything in a completely different light.

Maybe he would have been upset about that a few months, even a few weeks, ago. But now that he'd been able to open his heart to Will, everything in his life had changed.

He still had a difficult time dealing with emotions in some ways. He wasn't completely comfortable with them yet, at least not with other people. But with Will, it was easy to let his own feelings out -- and to accept the emotions that Will showed to him.

It was new, and different, and a little scary. But at the same time, it was a growth experience, one that he knew he needed if he wanted this relationship to flourish.

Softly, gently, he stroked Will's hair, holding him.

Cuddling like this was something he'd never thought he would do -- but then, he had never thought that he'd have anyone to cuddle _with_.

Again, Will had changed everything in his life. This man had given him so much; the least he could do was offer comfort when Will obviously needed it. If Will needed to cuddle and be held when he was having an emotional crisis, then Sherlock would be here for him.

Besides, it felt good to cuddle with Will. Just having his boyfriend in his arms, feeling Will leaning against him, made him feel strong and capable.

Knowing that he could give someone comfort made him feel good about himself.

It was a side of himself that he'd never really let out before; he hadn't been sure that it had even existed. But Will had brought it out, front and center.

And if cuddling on the couch was what Will needed, then that was what he would have, for as long as he might need it. Sherlock felt that he could sit here all day with Will in his arms, simply holding him and being close. He felt strong, protective, ready for anything.

He pulled Will closer against him, suddenly feeling that he wanted to protect his boyfriend from everything in the world that could possibly cause him any pain.

It was impossible, of course. He couldn't protect Will from every little thing; he couldn't wrap the man he loved in cotton wool and keep him completely safe forever. But somehow, it seemed that cuddling like this might be a very good place to start.

Sherlock closed his eyes, holding Will close against him. He was sure that he could get used to cuddling like this. He already knew that he liked it.

And maybe, in time, he would even grow to be good at it.


	36. Discovering Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock isn't entirely comfortable with romantic gestures, but he's working on it.

Sherlock bounded up the steps the the flat, slowing as he approached the door.

He hadn't really thought about what he was doing when he'd bought the bouquet of flowers. They had just been .... well, pretty, and he'd wanted to get something nice for Will, something to brighten up the flat. But now, it seemed like a bit much.

What was Will going to say? Would he find the flowers romantic, or laughable? Would he think that Sherlock was being silly?

Well, the only way to find out was to go inside and let Will see what he'd done. Closing his eyes, Sherlock inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers, feeling absurdly glad that he'd bought them. Sweet Williams, he told himself with a smile. For his sweet William.

Somehow, that seemed to fit nicely indeed.

He opened the door, walking into the living room and smiling as Will looked up from the book he was reading. Sherlock smiled, holding out the flowers to him.

Will smiled, putting his book aside and getting to his feet. He took the flowers from Sherlock, burying his face in their blooms before looking at the other man, a shy smile on his lips. "They're gorgeous, Sherlock. What made you decide to get flowers?"

Sherlock shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He didn't know exactly what to do, but he thought it was best to go with the truth.

"I wanted to get something to brighten up the flat -- and something for you," he said softly, his gaze meeting Will's. "I don't know why I decided on flowers. I just saw the sweet Williams, and thought they would be appropriate for you."

"Thank you," Will murmured, leaning over to brush his lips against Sherlock's cheek. "I'll put them in some water. I hope they'll last for a while."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at those words.

He hoped that the flowers lasted for a while, too. Just like their burgeoning relationship, which he hoped would last for a lifetime.

Maybe it was absurdly romantic to bring home flowers for no reason. But, after all, Will was his boyfriend. So somehow, bringing him flowers, even if there wasn't a specific reason for them, felt right. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

It seemed like the _romantic_ thing to do.

He might not have a lot of experienc with romance, but he wasn't doing badly at the moment, Sherlock told himself with an inner smile.

He followed WIll into the kitchen, watching as his boyfriend put the flowers into water in two different vases. "Some in here, and some in the living room?" he suggested.

Will turned to look at him with a soft smile and a nod.

"That's what I was thinking," he said, his voice very soft. "What made you decide to bring flowers home, Sherlock? It's not like I expect those kinds of gestures. But it was really sweet," he added, making Sherlock blush with pleasure.

"I wanted to bring you something nice," he said, stammering slightly. "And I .... I wanted to do something that felt romantic, even with my lack of experience in the area."

Oh, that was an embarrassing admission to make.

He hated knowing that he had so little in the way of experience when it came to being romantic. It felt as though he had very little to offer Will.

Still, WIll seemed happy with what he _did_ have to give -- and if he could keep remembering to make these little gestures, they went a long way. It felt good to make Will happy, and he loved seeing that smile on his boyfriend's handsome face.

"I don't have that much experience with being romantic, either," Will told him, his voice very soft. "I guess we're going to learn about that together."

Sherlock moved forward as Will set the vase of flowers carefully on the table in the living room, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's waist and pulling him close. He brushed a gentle kiss across Will's cheek, not hesitating for even a moment.

That was something he'd never have done with anyone else, he told himself. Maybe he was starting to get the hang of being romantic, after all.

"I think that sounds like a marvelous idea, love," he whispered.

Yes, he was definitely starting to feel comfortable with these little romantic gestures. It wasn't as hard to be romantic as he'd always thought it would be -- but he knew why that was, Sherlock told himself, brushing another kiss against Will's soft skin.

It was because he was in love. It wasn't hard at all to make romantic gestures like bringing a bouquet of flowers home when he had someone to bring them to.

He might not have much experience with romance, but Will was right. Neither of them did, and they would learn together. They would discover romance on their own terms, and they would take every step forward together, hand in hand, as a couple.

Sherlock couldn't hold back a smile. So far, they seemed to be doing very well.


	37. Candlelight Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to make a romantic gesture to show Will just how much he's appreciated.

Sherlock set the table carefully, arranging the cartons of Chinese takeout beside the plates, then stood back and looked around with satisfaction.

Will was upstairs in his room, though Sherlock knew that he'd be down in a few minutes. They had agreed to order Chinese food tonight, though the candles and the flowers on the table had been Sherlock's idea, as a bit of a surprise for Will.

He wanted to make the other man feel at home, wanted him to know that he was wanted here, that he was appreciated. And that he was loved.

Sherlock felt that a romantic candlelight dinner would get that point across.

Besides, he wanted to show Will that he had romance in his soul, even though he might not be practiced at letting it out. He wanted Will to see that the man he'd chosen to be with could make romantic gestures, that he was comfortable with them.

In truth, he found it a little awkward, but he wasn't going to stop making those gestures, not if they would show Will just how much he was wanted.

Candlelight and gorgeous flowers should make Will feel loved, Sherlock told himself as he glanced towards the living room. He thought he heard Will coming down the stairs; even though he wasn't wearing shoes, Sherlock could still hear the other man's quiet tread.

What would Will think of the candlelight and flowers? Would it seem like too much, or would be appreciate it for the romantic gesture that it was?

Sherlock suddenly felt that he'd somehow gone too far, assumed too much. Maybe Will had changed his mind about being in a relationship with him; maybe the feelings that he had were one-sided and Will only wanted them to be friends and roommates, and nothing more.

No, he told himself firmly. That wasn't the case.

Will wasn't the kind of man to simply change his mind about something like that. If his feelings had changed for some reason, he would have talked to Sherlock about it.

Besides, he wasn't being rushed. This was merely a romantic gesture, a symbol of the strong feelings that Sherlock had for him, nothing more. He wasn't trying to make Will move forward more quickly. He was just trying to be romantic and loving, that was all.

"In the kitchen, Will," Sherlock called, knowing that Will could see the flicker of candlelight from the living room. He hoped the other man wasn't alarmed by that.

Then Will was standing in the doorway, his blue eyes wide as he looked at the table, the flowers, the food, the candles that cast a warm glow over the room. Sherlock smiled at him, holding out a hand as he stepped forward, his gaze on Will's face.

"I wanted to do something romantic," he said softly, holding Will's gaze with his own. "I wanted you to know that you're welcomed here, Will. That you're very much appreciated and wanted, and that you belong. I hope it's not too much."

Will's answering smile put him at ease; it was enough to tell him that he'd done the right thing. Will looked happy and relaxed, and his smile was genuine.

Sherlock loved seeing that smile, the smile that reached all the way to Will's blue eyes. It wasn't the forced smile that Will showed others when he was stressed, a smile that Sherlock had seen a few times already. It was a smile of warmth and happiness.

"You make me feel loved even without the candlelight and flowers," he said softly, taking Sherlock's hand. "But this is a really nice touch. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sherlock answered, feeling absurdly pleased.

Really, he shouldn't feel so happy that such a small gesture had been so well-received. But every little thing that he did for Will was a step forward in their relationship, and if it was something that made Will happy, and made him feel more at home, then Sherlock was glad he'd done it.

Will sat down at the table, picking up one of the cartons of rice and spooning it onto his plate. "I've never had Chinese food by candlelight before."

"Then I'm glad to be able to give you a new experience," Sherlock said with a smile, taking a seat opposite Will and helping himself to some of the food. "I've actually never had a meal by candlelight. I don't think I've ever appreciated the romance of it."

But then, that was because he'd never had anyone to be romantic with, Sherlock told himself with an inward smile. And now, he most certainly did.

"The only time I've ever eaten by candlelight is when the power went out," Will confessed with a soft laugh. "And I didn't have a date, unless you count the dogs. I was alone in the house, and wishing that the power would come back on in a hurry."

Sherlock had to laugh at the mental picture that presented.

"I doubt that the power will ever go off here for more than a few minutes," he said, his voice very soft. "But any time you'd like some romantic candlelight, we can pretend that it did."

Will's gaze met his over the table, and the younger man smiled again, sending a thrill of desire through Sherlock's body. That smile promised so much for the future, so much that he couldn't wait to experience. That smile made him feel .... _wanted_.

He smiled back at Will, the candlelight flickering between them, the heady scent of the flowers filling the room, making everything seem exotic and enticing.

Sherlock didn't know just where they were going from here, but he couldn't wait to find out.


	38. Life Is Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new life that Will has found with Sherlock is much sweeter than any he could have hoped to lead before they met.

Sherlock had been so sweet to him since he'd moved to London.

Will couldn't help smiling at the thought, hugging it close to him. Sherlock thought he was special. Sherlock loved him. He wanted to wrap that love around him, to curl up inside it like a warm blanket and let the feeling of being loved wash over him.

He'd never had that before. Not from anyone. It still amazed him that Sherlock could love him so much, that such an amazing man wanted to be with him.

There was no pretending here, no dissembling, no subterfuge. Sherlock wasn't someone who only wanted to be with him because they were attracted to him physically, or because they wanted to get into his mind. Sherlock was someone who actually _cared_.

He'd never expected to have that in his life. He had never thought that he was the sort of person anyone could care about, or even want to.

Of course it was an unhealthy way to look at himself, and he knew it. But he'd been conditioned to think that way ever since he was a child whose parents hadn't shown him the love he had so desperately needed when he was growing up. It was a knee-jerk reaction.

But he was learning to overcome those thoughts.

Without Sherlock in his life, he would probably have ended up becoming the crazy dog guy, collecting more and more pets instead of having a relationship.

Fortunately, Sherlock had saved him from that, Will thought with a soft laugh. Sherlock had swept into his life like a hurricane; he hadn't expected anything from this man other than his help at proving his innocence, and possibly a long-distance friendship.

Instead, they had fallen for each other, and fallen hard. It still felt a little like a dream, his being in London, living with Sherlock.

His life had turned into something completely different from what he'd expected it to be.

But he certainly wasn't complaining, Will thought, propping his chin on his hand and smiling. His life was better than he'd ever thought it could be.

He had an interview tomorrow morning with the directors of Scotland Yard Academy; they were interested in hiring him as a professor. They didn't seem to care about his past with the FBI; they were interested in his teaching credentials, not in his field work.

The frame-up job that Hannibal and Crawford had tried to do on him might have destroyed his life in the US, but here, he could still move forward.

Life was sweet now, instead of the tangled mess that it had been when he was in Wolf Trap, and then in jail. And it was all due to Sherlock.

How had he gotten so lucky? he asked himself. He'd thought that even if he managed to get out of jail, that he would never be able to have a decent life again. He had thought that he would always be under some kind of suspicion, that he'd always be .... tainted.

But he wasn't. Not here. He had an entirely new life, a fresh start. And again, it was all thanks to the man he'd fallen in love with.

He intended to savor the sweetness of this new life to the fullest.

He owed that to Sherlock, didn't he? He owed it to the man he loved to put the past behind him, and to open his arms and his heart to the new life he'd been given.

This was more than he'd had any right to expect. He knew exactly how lucky he was, and he would be grateful for this fresh start every day. He'd never take it for granted; it meant too much to him, and he'd come too close to not having it at all.

He had come far too close to losing everything, Will thought grimly. His reputation, his sanity, and possibly even his life.

But Sherlock had kept that from happening.

He was never going to have to worry about things like that again. He was free of the oppression, away from the people who had wanted to use him and then toss him away like garbage. There was none of that in the life he was leading now.

Now, he had love and happiness and sweetness. He had everything he could want, none of which he had ever _expected_ to have, which just made it better.

And at the center of it all was Sherlock, and their budding relationship. it was moving slowly, but that wasn't a bad thing. Neither of them wanted to jump into things too quickly; they knew what they felt, and they knew that the emotions weren't going to disappear.

Yes, the life he was leading now was definitely much sweeter than the one he'd left behind. And it was only going to keep getting better.

He and Sherlock had so much ahead of him, Will told himself, feeling his spirits rise. They were going to get closer, both emotionally and physically. And eventually, they would make their partnership legal. He had no doubt of that. Their life together had only just started.

He couldn't wait to see just where it was going to lead them.


	39. Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will already feels more grounded and stabilized after just a few days of living with Sherlock.

Will looked around the living room of the flat, a small smile on his lips.

He had already grown to love this place, even though he'd only been here for a few days. It already felt like home; there was just something about it that was comfortable, and easy to slide into. He loved the feel of the place, the coziness of it.

He and Sherlock already had their small rituals, and he was becoming comfortable with the rhythm of being here. It wasn't as different as he'd feared.

London was a vast city, and there were times when he longed for the country, for the solitude and quiet that he had grown accustomed to. But he had to admit, he liked the convenience of having so much around him, of being right in the middle of everything.

He was getting used to the sounds, and even coming to like them.

At one time, things like cars driving down the street might have irritated him. But now, he found the noises soothing, a reminder that he wasn't alone.

It had become a ritual for him to listen to the traffic at night; he was at the point where it felt comfortable to know that there were people nearby, that he wasn't alone in case he needed help. But that was silly, Will told himself. Why should be feel that he wasn't safe?

Because he would never have felt safe again in Wolf Trap, he told himself with a sigh. He would have always been waiting for Hannibal's next move.

He was glad that he'd left Wolf Trap, Hannibal, the FBI, and all of his life in the States behind him. There was no reason for him to be afraid of anything here; no one here wanted him dead or in prison. No one here wanted to turn his mind inside out.

Nobody here was evil on the scale that Hannibal was. He didn't have to worry; he didn't have to look over his shoulder, or second-guess anyone he met.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he could feel safe.

All of the little rituals that he and Sherlock had started to develop, the routines that they'd already started to fall into, helped to make him feel safe and protected.

He was getting used to things like going out to walk Winston twice a day, and having lunch at the coffee shop only a couple of blocks away from the flat. Those were small things, but they kept him grounded, and gave him something to look forward to.

They gave him a stability that he had badly needed for a long time.

Once he started teaching, he supposed that his life would change yet again, but that was a change that he was eagerly anticipating.

Will was surprised to discover how much he missed teaching. He was ready to jump back into it, and the interview he'd had with Scotland Yard Academy was promising.

Again, that had given him something to hold on to, something to stabilize himself with.

They seemed to be truly interested in him as a teacher, in what he could give to the students at the Yard, and not just in his lurid reputation. They didn't want him to talk about his empathic ability. They wanted him to talk about profiling, to impart his knowledge.

It felt good to be appreciated for that, instead of being looked at as being some kind of freak of nature who should be kept away from.

Again, he had Sherlock to thank for this change in his fortunes.

if it wasn't for Sherlock, his life would be a lot more depressing now -- if he even still _had_ a life, Will thought with a shudder. He could very well be dead by now.

That was what Hannibal had wanted -- and it seemed that was what his former so-called "friends" had all wanted, as well, considering that they hadn't tried to prove his innocence at all. They'd just gone along with Hannibal's manufactured "evidence," and used it against him.

The thought made his hands curl into fists, the smile disappearing from his face. Because of them, he would have either died, or spent the rest of his life in prison.

But thanks to Sherlock, that hadn't happened. He pushed the disturbing thoughts and images away, not wanting to think about them any more, and instead brought a picture of the man he loved into his mind, the smile suddenly coming to life again.

All it took was thinking about Sherlock to make him smile. Just the thought of his boyfriend's face, his voice, his smile, was all he needed to make him happy.

All he needed in his life was Sherlock.

The little rituals that they took part in, the small things that they did every day, gave him a solid grounding, one that he'd never had when he lived alone. One that he was getting used to, and that he was coming to depend on more than he'd thought he would.

it felt good to be grounded. It felt good to have a life again, and a bright future ahead of him, both with his career and in his personal life.

And most of all, it felt good to love and be loved, Will thought, his smile growing. He'd never felt like this before, never thought that he could have this kind of love in his life. He would be grateful for it every day, and hold it close to him for all of his days.

Now that he'd found some stability in his life, he wasn't about to let it go.


	40. The Bond Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock feels a bond with Will that he never thought he could have with anyone.

Was this what it felt like to be in love?

Of course it was, Sherlock told himself as he glanced over at Will. His boyfriend was curled up on the couch, reading a book, seemingly lost in the pages.

Sherlock didn't want to bother him; he looked so comfortable, and he knew that Will had a lot on his mind lately and needed his relaxation. But he wanted to talk, and he felt that they needed to make sure that they were on the same page.

He didn't have to ask himself if he loved Will, or if Will loved him. He didn't doubt that for one moment. Their feelings for each other were obvious.

There was a bond between them that was strong and unshakeable, even though they hadn't been together for very long. Sherlock had never felt that sort of a bond with anyone else; he knew that he never would. His feelings for Will could never be duplicated.

Love wasn't something he'd ever expected to have in his life, he mused. It wasn't even something he'd wanted -- until he met Will.

This man had changed everything for him.

It didn't seem possible that one person could have made such a difference in his life, even to the point of changing how he looked at emotional intimacy. He had always thought of it as a bother, as something that would only hold him back.

Oh, how wrong he had been about that! Sherlock almost felt ashamed of himself for scoffing at emotions -- and at love -- for so many long years.

He had denied himself love and intimacy because he had thought it would keep him from doing his job -- he had obviously been wrong about that, too, he thought with a soft sigh. He'd been wrong about so much, mainly because he didn't want to see the truth.

But in a way, he was glad that he had waited for that intimacy.

He didn't want to share himself with anyone else but Will. He had never wanted to be with anyone before, never even wanted to share so much as a kiss.

But Will .... ah, Will was completely different. He wanted to do much more than kiss Will; already, he'd had more than a few dreams of them being locked in a passionate embrace, naked, and he'd woken up with an erection and a racing heart.

No one else had ever affected him such a physical way, and he'd never wanted them to. Such things had always repulsed him in the past.

Well, not _repulsed_ , Sherlock corrected himself. But they'd made him feel uncomfortable in relation to himself. Now, he wanted them, _craved_ them.

He might be a virgin, but he was fast reaching the point where that virginity was becoming annoying. He had never before wanted to give that virginity to anyone, had never even wanted to consider it. But with Will, all he wanted to do was become one with him.

Their bond wasn't just forged from physical desire, either, he told himself firmly. He didn't just want Will. He _loved_ him. There were emotions involved.

He'd never done a very good job at sorting his emotions before.

But that was because he had tried to never let himself feel the softer emotions. He had always backed away from them; the only softness he'd let himself feel was compassion for some of the victims he'd dealt with on cases. He hadn't opened himself up to his feelings.

He was doing that now, and he wasn't going to turn back. Falling in love with Will, developing that bond, had freed something within him.

Nothing in his life was ever going to be the same again. Now he had another person to think about, a person who loved him and wanted to be with him. It was far different from having a flatmate and a friend; what he and Will shared went far beyond friendship.

"What are you thinking about?" Will's voice was soft, a little tentative.

Sherlock considered saying something offhand, making a joke of it. But he didn't want to do that; he wanted Will to know just how seriously he took their relationship.

"I was thinking about us," he said softly, standing up and moving across the room to sit down on the couch and take Will's small hand in both of his. "I was thinking about the bond between us, and how strong it is. A bond that can never be broken."

Will nodded, his blue gaze locking with Sherlock's. "I feel that way, too," he said softly, his lips curving into a smile. "Nobody's ever going to take me away from you."

"No one had better try," Sherlock said, his own smile mirroring Will's. "You're mine, Will, and I'm yours. If anyone ever tries to question that, or change it, they'll regret ever thinking of trying. Nothing's going to take me away from you, or change how I feel."

WIll nodded, not saying another word, only burrowing into Sherlock's embrace. Somehow, it felt _right_ to Sherlock to sit here with Will's head pillowed on his shoulder.

Right, and comforting, and .... _close_.

He had never wanted to be this close to anyone before. But as he'd already told himself, Will had changed all of his former opinions about emotions and intimacy.

This bond between them would never be severed, never fade away. It would always be here for him -- and he couldn't help but think that there would come a time when he would desperately need it.


	41. Growing Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't stop thinking about kissing Sherlock -- and doing other more intimate things with him, as well.

He couldn't stop looking at Sherlock's lips.

That mouth was so full and sexy. Will's gaze kept traveling to Sherlock's lips and staying there, no matter what he did. He simply _couldn't stop looking_.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that those lips actually kissed his own with the passion and fervor that they did. He'd been kissed before, of course, though not much. But Sherlock's kisses affected in a way that no one else's ever had.

Sherlock's kisses literally took his breath away, made him feel dizzy and light-headed. Sherlock's kisses took him over the moon, to the stars and back again.

And those lips were just _gorgeous_. So soft and sweet, so full and sensual. When he smiled, Will had to take a deep breath and blink a few times; it was as though all the erotic promises in the world were kept there, just waiting for him to discover them.

How could one person affect him this way? It didn't seem possible that he could desire someone so much; he, the person who had never really desired anyone before.

That desire actually scared him a little.

He'd never thought about physically _wanting_ someone before, how it would feel. And he'd never realized that desire could be this strong.

Sometimes kissing Sherlock was all he thought about; he would close his eyes and drift away into his own little fantasy world, imagining how those lips would feel on his, remembering the softness and sweetness of Sherlock's lips touching his own when they kissed.

And at other times, there would be more to the fantasy than just kissing. That was when his mind started to put up roadblocks.

He wanted Sherlock. Of course he did. But a part of him was terrified.

He'd never felt this kind of desire before. The siren call of it was almost irresistible, but along with that call was a fear of what he might have to endure.

Will didn't doubt that making love with Sherlock would be pleasurable, but he'd heard so much about the initial pain that came along with the pleasure that it frightened him .What if he did something wrong? What if he was .... well, no good at sex?

He didn't want to think like that. He wanted to feel that even though the two of them were virgins, they would come together naturally, with love and tenderness.

But the thought of that pain, even though he'd been told that it was only a quicksilver flash that lasted for no more than a few moments, still made him shudder.

Sherlock would never deliberately hurt him, he reminded himself. He had nothing to be scared of, not really. And as long as he concentrated on the pleasure that would come, and those incredible kisses, then he'd be all right until the momentary pain passed.

Still, it wasn't something he looked forward to. Not that he couldn't take pain, but he'd prefer not to feel it at all with the man he loved.

It was enough to give him pause, and make him hold back.

When he and Sherlock were kissing, he never held back. He couldn't resist the gentle insistence of those incredible lips; he always gave in to them.

But sex was going to be a different matter, for both ot hem. Will couldn't help wondering if Sherlock was as nervous about the prospect as he was, if his boyfriend felt the same conflicting sensations of desire and fear rolled into one.

Of course he did, Will told himself with a soft sigh. He had no doubt that Sherlock was dealing with the same misgivings that he himself was feeling.

They'd have to get past that, and talk about the issue.

They would do just that, Will thought, his spirits rising. He and Sherlock could talk about anything. It might feel awkward at first, but they'd talk it out between themselves.

There was nothing he couldn't tell his boyfriend, nothing that he couldn't trust Sherlock with. There was no reason to be afraid of talking with him openly and honestly about he was feeling -- and there was really no reason for him to be afraid of their growing intimacy, either.

If he wasn't afraid of kisses, then he shouldn't be afraid of what they led to. And he'd also been told that it _did_ keep getting better.

"What are you looking at, love?" Sherlock's voice was deep and sexy, the voice that Will loved to hear. The voice that sent chills down his spine, and a wash over desire over his entire body. He laughed softly, turning to face his boyfriend and then leaning towards him.

"I'm thinking about kissing you," he whispered, leaning forward and wrapping his arms arms around the other man's neck -- and then proceeding to press his own lips to Sherlock's.

It was a very long time before the two of them managed to come up for air.


	42. Improved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question that Will poses to Sherlock leads the detective to a realization about himself.

"Sherlock, can I ask you something?"

Will's voice sounded tentative, hesitant; Sherlock looked up from the paper with a frown. He wasn't used to hearing that kind of nervousness in his boyfriend's tone.

"Of course you can, love. You can ask me anything," he said, keeping his voice soft and he put the paper down and focused on Will. The other man even _looked_ nervous and hesitant; Sherlock wondered what could be on his mind to cause that expression.

Will looked down at his hands; they were clasped in his lap, the knuckles white. Ah, yet another sign that he was terribly nervous about something.

"I ..." Will's voice trailed off; he swallowed hard, then looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Does it ever bother you that we're both so innocent when it comes to sex?" he blurted out, his cheeks flushing. "That neither of us is really going to know what we're doing?"

Sherlock almost wanted to laugh, but he wouldn't embarrass Will even further by doing so. After all, it _did_ seem like a legitimate worry.

Though he knew that Will really had no reason to be concerned.

"Will, just because neither of us has ever had sex before doesn't mean that we don't know what to do," he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle.

Will nodded, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. "Yeah, I know the mechanics of it, and I"m sure you do, too," he said, still sounding nervous and embarrassed. "But actually _doing_ it is going to be a lot different from reading about it, or knowing the basics."

Well, that was certainly true enough, Sherlock thought. But still, he didn't want Will to worry about this. _He_ himself wasn't worried at all.

In his mind, there was no reason to worry.

It didn't matter that neither he nor Will had ever been with a man before -- or that neither of them had ever been with anyone. They would know what to do when the time came.

Neither of them were completely ignorant as to what went on when two men made love, Sherlock thought to himself. They both knew what happened, what went where. It wasn't the physicality of what would happen that he was concerned with.

No, what he was focusing on were the _emotions_ of finally allowing himself to be sexually involved with someone, the difficulties of opening his heart.

Though he'd already done that, hadn't he? He had already let Will into his life, and let himself fall in love with this beautiful man, this man who he absolutely adored.

He had already accepted that he would have to let his emotions be front and center in his dealings with Will. It hadn't been the easiest thing for him to do, and he was still learning, day by day, just how to deal with the unprecedented strength of those emotions.

Btu he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved Will, and that he had been wrong, very wrong, in his past surety that emotions had no place in his life.

He had simply been waiting for the right person to release them.

Will _was_ the right person .That was another thing that Sherlock didn't doubt, not even for a moment. Will was the one person he was destined to be with.

Those emotions wouldn't have struck him with such a gale force if Will wasn't the one for him. He believed that; he truly did. And even though he had to admit that he was a little nervous about the emotions that now seemed to pour out of him, the physical side of things didn't worry him.

He knew what to do, and he was sure that Will did, too. When the time was right for both of them, he had not the slightest doubt that they would come together in love.

Yes, it would be love. Not merely lust.

Though at the moment, it _did_ seem that Will was terribly nervous about what was going to inevitably happen between them, and Sherlock wanted to put him at ease.

"Will." He spoke softly, leaning over on the couch to place a finger under hi boyfriend's chin and lift Will's face to his, so that they were gazing into each other's eyes. "You know what to do. I know what to do. We love each other. It will happen naturally. I'm sure of that."

"Do you really think so?" Will bit his lip, looking unconvinced. "I can't help being nervous about it. I mean, I don't .... I don't wantto do anything wrong."

"Between two people who love each other, there is no 'wrong,'" Sherlock said softly, surprised by his own words. How could he know such a thing? He himself had never been in love before Will; he had always been so proud of that fact.

But now, he _was_ in love -- and somehow, that emotion seemed to give him a new wisdom that he'd never had before, a wisdom that he found he treasured.

Love really _did_ change a person, he thought with an inward smile.

"Don't worry about it, Will," he said softly, gathering his boyfriend into his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to Will's forehead. "When the time comes, it will all work out."

Will nodded, closing his eyes and resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock tightened his arms around the younger man, feeling a little amazed at himself. He had never thought that he was particularly good at offering comfort to anyone -- or advice.

At least, not about this sort of thing. But somehow, falling in love seemed to have given him a new insight that he'd never believed he could have.

Falling in love had changed him. And he didn't regret the changes one bit.

He almost felt like a new person -- and maybe he was, in some ways. But he didn't regret leaving the old one behind; no, he liked the Sherlock was was becoming.

New and improved, he thought with a smile. A new attitude, a new outlook, for the new life he was leading with the man he loved. A life that was looking better with each passing day.


	43. Mutual Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't stop worrying about the fact that he and Sherlock are both inexperienced when it comes to the physical side of a relationship.

Their mutual innocence didn't bother him. Not really.

Will sighed as he stole a glance at Sherlock across the room; his boyfriend was engrossed in whatever he was looking at on the computer screen.

He liked watching Sherlock, liked seeing the concentration that ran across those handsome features when he looked at or read something that could be the precursor to an interesting case. He loved unraveling all of the complexities of that fascinating mind.

Sherlock didn't think like other people did; that was one of the things that made him so interesting, and one of the reasons that Will had fallen for him.

But was he being too cavalier about their mutual innocence when it came to the physical side of having a relationship? Will couldn't help feeling that Sherlock was pushing it aside, not wanting to deal with it, and that such an attitude would cause problems later.

He hoped that wasn't the case. He wanted to believe that the two of them would indeed fall into the more physical aspects of their relationship naturally.

But how could they, when neither of them had been involved before?

It was more than a little daunting to realize that sex was an unexplored territory for both of them, and that it could be very awkward the first time they came together.

Oh, of course they both knew about the mechanics of sex. They both knew what went where, and what they were supposed to do. And Will didn't doubt that they would have no problems with the emotional aide of it. They loved each other. That wasn't in question.

Still, there would be some pain involved, and he couldn't help but cringe from that. And which of them was going to end up being the more aggressive partner?

He didn't think he had it in him to do that.

Maybe his attitude would change once they'd made love, and he was more comfortable with being physical and sharing his body. He hoped so.

It wasn't that he didn't want to make love to Sherlock, Will told himself firmly. His boyfriend was a gorgeous man; of course he wanted to make love to him. But he'd never done anything like that before, and he felt more than a little lost as to what it would be like.

He'd never been the kind of person who was aggressive about anything. Even when he'd been working in the field with the FBI, he'd always held back. He'd never been pushy.

Maybe that was why Hannibal had been able to use him and manipulate him in the way he had, Will told himself bitterly. Because he hadn't been aggressive enough.

Hannibal had seen him as a victim -- and for a while, he had been. He'd let himself be manipulated, and he had believed all of Hannibal's lies. It had been easier to do so than to fight; but fortunately, he had come to his senses and stopped submitting to those mind games.

He'd almost come to his senses too late, Will thought with a shudder. If Sherlock hadn't come along when he did, there was no telling what could have happened.

He might be dead now, convicted of crimes that he hadn't committed.

But thanks to Sherlock, he wasn't. Thanks to Sherlock, he had a wonderful new life, in a place where he felt more at home with each passing day.

Will took a deep breath, then another. There was nothing for him to be worried about. Yes, the two of them might be somewhat innocent when it came to lovemaking, but they would take things one step at a time, and they would become comfortable together.

Every new couple probably had to deal with misgivings about their first time together, he told himself firmly. He wasn't the only person who'd ever felt this way.

Whatever the problems were, they'd get past them.

If there was some awkwardness -- and the first few times, there was bound to be -- they would deal with it, and they would work through it.

Yes, they'd both be nervous the first time, and probably a little scared, too. Their innocence might weigh on them, but it was something that could be overcome. And it was something they could work through as a couple, together, helping each other.

The two of them could overcome any problems they might have. They loved each other too much not to be able to solve anything that might stand in their way.

Love was as new to both of them as sex was, Will thought, taking another deep breath. But the two of them had come a long way together. Neither of them was hiding any more; there were no secrets between them, nothing they couldn't talk through.

He hadn't thought that he was the sort of person who was good with relationships. Now, his attitude about himself just might be changing for the better.

And maybe, in some ways, their mutual innocence was a _good_ thing.

Neither of them had any emotional baggage from the past to stand in their way. They were both coming to this relationship fresh and new, with no past entanglements.

And no expectations, he reminded himself. Neither of them knew what to expect from a serious relationship because they'd never been in one before. So that could only be good; they didn't expect things to turn out a certain way. They could take each day as it came.

Their innocence in the ways of sex didn't have to be a barrier, he told himself. It would be something that they faced together, and found mutual pleasure in.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait for it to happen.


	44. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't wait to work with Will on what Scotland Yard deems an unsolvable case.

"This isn't something you can solve easily, Sherlock."

Will's words made Sherlock glance up at his boyfriend; the younger man was sitting across the kitchen table from him, frowning at the papers Sherlock had handed him.

"It's quite a challenge, Will," Sherlock said, his voice betraying his inner excitement. "This is a case unlike any I've ever heard of. Though I don't believe, as the reporter who wrote this rather sensationalistic piece obviously does, that the supernatural is involved."

"I don't believe in the supernatural," Will said absently, his gaze still scanning the paper. "Every time anybody thinks that's involved, it turns out to be a plan old living person."

"I've had cases before where people swore that the supernatural played a large part, but I've never believed in it, either," Sherlock mused, watching Will with a smile on his lips. "Though there was a point during one case when I _thought_ I saw something ...."

"There was?" Will raised his head, looking interested. "What did you think you saw? And how did you figure out that it wasn't actually supernatural?"

Sherlock blushed slightly, looking a little shamefaced.

"I, and some of the people with me, were drugged," he mumbled, not wanting to admit that he'd been fooled by something so simple. "We saw what we were induced to see."

"That's what it was like with Hannibal and me, when I thought he was my friend," Will said quietly, shaking his head. "And I wasn't drugged .... well, not really. He was inducing my seizures, and exacerbating the encephalitis, but I was his friend of my own free will."

"No, you weren't, Will," Sherlock said, his voice a little sharp. "You would never have gotten anywhere near him if you'd known what evil he was capable of."

Will considered the words, then nodded slowly.

"I guess you're right," he said, his tone thoughtful. "If I'd known what he was really like, I would never have had anything to do with him. But I didn't know, unfortunately."

"You were coerced into a false friendship," Sherlock said softly, reaching out to take Will's hand. "No one can blame you for that, Will. You had no idea what he was, or what he had planned for you." He frowned, his expression troubled. "And I don't think we've seen the last of him."

Will shivered at the thought, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself. "I hope we have. I hope we don't have anything to do with him again. Ever."

"You won't have to," Sherlock said softly, a slight frown marring his brow as he watched Will. "I promise you that, Will. You'll never have to deal with him again."

He hoped that was true; he hadn't realized just how much Will was still traumatized by his association with that hideous monster. Somehow, he felt that their dealings with Hannibal Lecter weren't over, even though an ocean separated them now.

But he would cope with that when and if Hannibal showed up in their lives again. And he would protect Will in every way that he could.

Now, however, he had something else on his mind.

He wanted them to work this case together, to bring the facts to light and uncover the possibilities. It would be something that they could share professionally.

He'd wanted to work with Will from the first, and this case seemed to be the perfect opportunity for them to do so. It would help to strengthen Will's reputation with Scotland Yard, too -- after all, hadn't he solved what were reputed to be impossible cases with the FBI?

This case presented an opportunity for them in a professional light, so show the Yard that they could be a formidable team when they worked together.

Sherlock had no doubt that they _would_ work smoothly as a professional team.

Will was right; this case wasn't going to be easily solved. But he didn't believe for a moment it had any real elements of the supernatural within it.

There were no vengeful ghosts, no spirits from beyond the grave. No, this person who had come to him was being hounded by someone composed entirely of flesh and blood, and he was going to prove that fact -- and put the perpetrator of the fraud behind bars.

He had been told that this case would be impossible to solve. Lestrade had seemed to think that there was no way to bring this criminal to justice.

Sherlock disagreed with him. It would be fun to do what Scotland Yard considered impossible; he'd done it before, and had confounded them as to how he'd discovered just what had happened and unraveled a tangle that they'd thought no facts could be extricated from.

The impossible was right in his line of work, he told himself with a smile. And with Will by his side, he was sure that he would solve this case even more quickly.

The two of them would work as a team. As partners.

He couldn't wait for that, Sherlock thought with rising excitement. It would be the first case he and Will had worked on together, and he was sure that they would mesh well.

Working with his boyfriend on a case would bring them even closer; it would show them facets of each other that they hadn't seen before. It was something that would only solidify their relationship, the personal side as well as the professional one.

"Now then," he said briskly, his gaze meeting Will's as the younger man finished reading the papers he held and looked up at Sherlock. "Where do you think we should start?"

He was interested in seeing just what Will's answer would be.

Will studied the papers again, then pointed to a paragraph that had held Sherlock's interest as well. "Here. It seems the most logical place for a beginning."

That was exactly what Sherlock had thought, though he hadn't wanted to say so before Will pointed it out. It seemed that he had been right, and that the two of them would be able to work together well. Will's mind ran along the same track as his own.

His spirits rose at the thought of taking on cases with Will by his side; not only as his partner in a personal relationship, but in a working capacity as well. It was the best of both worlds.

Nothing was impossible. Not for the two of them.


	45. Better Than His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing Sherlock is the greatest pleasure Will has ever known.

He liked kissing. Oh, yes, he liked kissing _very_ much.

Will didn't want to pull away and open his eyes; he wanted to stay right where he was, kissing Sherlock forever, feeling those soft lips on his.

Sherlock had the most incredible lips, he thought with a soft sigh of contentment. He might never have been kissed before Will, but he had definitely gotten _very_ good at it in the time that they'd been together. In fact, he was a master.

Will had been kissed before, by both men and women, but there had never been a kiss that aroused him in the way that Sherlock's did.

No one else's kiss had ever made him feel this surging desire that came from deep within him, the desire to throw all caution to the winds and further than just kissing. No one else's kiss had ever made him _want_ them the way that he wanted Sherlock.

Their kisses always grew more and more intimate, until he was sure that his desire would overtake him and they would end up in bed.

But so far, that hadn't happened.

It would, Will assured himself. He was absolutely certain of that. He and Sherlock would eventually be in bed together, taking their kissing much further.

What would making love with Sherlock be like? Since neither of them had ever been physically intimate with anyone before, Will didn't doubt that there would be a few awkward moments, but he was sure that they would be able to overcome those.

They both wanted to be with each other, he told himself. So that meant that any awkwardness would be quickly smoothed over by their mutual desire.

Whenever it happened, it would be an amazing experience.

But right now, the only experience he wanted to concentrate on was kissing his boyfriend. He tightened his arms around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer.

Maybe they should be working on that baffling case, but at the moment, it wasn't on his mind. They were here at home, late in the evening before they would get ready for bed, and they had been working all day. They needed some quiet time together.

They couldn't always concentrate on cases. There was more to life than working, as both of them were quickly discovering.

The case that they had now was a baffling one, but he was sure that they'd work it out. It might seem to be a frustratingly impossible case, but he was sure that it wasn't.

Why was he thinking about a case? He was here, in Sherlock's arms, and those amazing lips were on his. He had been staring at Sherlock's mouth all day; every time his boyfriend spoke, Will had licked his lips, wishing that they were kissing.

And now they were, and it was _incredible_. That mouth was so soft, so sweet. Will was sure that Sherlock's kisses tasted like paradise.

A paradise that he never wanted to leave.

How could any kiss be this sweet? If he wasn't tasting these kisses himself, Will would scoff at the idea of anyone actually tasting like honey.

But that was what Sherlock's lips tasted like to him; the sweetest honey, the nectar of the gods. No other kiss had ever tasted like this; no other kiss had ever moved him to this kind of passion, made him want to tear off his clothes and beg to be _taken_.

No, things weren't going to go that far yet. For now, it was enough to have Sherlock's mouth take his, over and over, lifting him towards the stars.

He was in heaven, and he never wanted to come back down to earth.

Kissing Sherlock was everything he'd dreamed it would be. No, Will corrected himself, clinging even more tightly to his boyfriend. It was even better than his dreams.

If kissing was this good, what would it be like when they were finally together, when they made love for the first time? Will was sure that it would be amazing, an experience to remember for all of his life and beyond, the culmination of all his dreams.

Making love with Sherlock would be wonderful, but for now, just kissing him was enough. They were both getting very good at this kissing thing.

Of course, he'd been kissed before, but never with any kind of fervor that equaled this. Will was sure that Sherlock felt the same passion he did; there was no way that his boyfriend could hold him and kiss him this way and not be physically stirred.

They would hold that passion back for now, but he knew that it would have to come out sooner or later -- and when it did, they would be caught up in a storm.

A storm of their own making, one that they would revel in.

When he finally pulled away from Sherlock slightly, Will felt dazed, but sated and happy. And all he could think of was how soon he wanted to be kissed again.

Looking at his boyfriend, he was sure that Sherlock felt the same. Those beautiful lips were curved in a smile of contentment, but Will didn't doubt that Sherlock was just as hungry for more kissing as he was. They would probably be here on the couch long into the night.

And that was just fine with him, he thought with an inward smile. He reached for Sherlock again, no words needed to communicate just how he was feeling.

Will closed his eyes as he sank into yet another kiss.


	46. Saving Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As long as he and Sherlock are able to save lives, nothing else really matters.

"What do you deduce from this, Will?" Sherlock's voice was soft and gentle, but Will could hear the serious question under the words.

Working with Sherlock was certainly interesting, he thought wryly.

He'd gotten more use out of his brain since he'd been working on this case with his boyfriend than he'd ever done when he was with the FBI.

That wasn't a bad thing, he assured himself. Working with Sherlock was teaching him a lot, and he enjoyed it. But there were times when he felt outstripped, as though Sherlock was miles ahead of him and he was running to catch up.

He was a good detective, and he knew it. But next to Sherlock, there were times when he felt that he didn't know anything.

His boyfriend was brilliant. He'd already known that, of course; Sherlock had managed to get him out of jail, and he still didn't know how that had been accomplished. But that had given him faith that Sherlock could deduce any case, bring any secrets to light.

Still, this case was a baffling one, and even using his empathy, Will hadn't been able to figure it out. The scene they'd faced when the case had started still made him wince.

He'd seen some horrific sights, but the look on that corpse's face ....

It was as though the man had literally been frightened to death. The lips had been pulled back from the teeth in a rictus of fear, a never-ending, silent scream.

In all the disturbing things he'd seen since he had begun working in the field, first with the FBI and now with Sherlock, somehow this had stuck with him. The look in those eyes, even though the man had been dead for a while, haunted him.

Whatever he had seen, it must have been the most terrifying thing he could possibly imagine. His face reflected that fear a million times over.

Had he been _scared_ to death?

From the look on his face, Will wanted to say that he had been, but somehow, it seemed too ridiculous an idea to contemplate.

What was he supposed to say? That all of the bodies they'd seen had that same look of fear, as though they'd been chased down by something that had literally frightened them to death? It seemed impossible, yet it might be the truth.

"They were scared to death," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I'm seeing. That's my theory."

"I think you're correct," Sherlock told him, his tone musing. "Yes, it sounds silly when the theory is put into words, but that's the one thing they all have in common."

"That expression," Will said thoughtfully, his brow creasing into a frown. "But what could have scared so many people so much that they'd run from it until their hearts literally burst? Well, maybe four people isn't a lot, but it's too many for my taste."

"Even one is too many," Sherlock said, his voice grim. "We have to find this killer and determined what he must be using to bring about these deaths."

Will nodded, feeling just as grim as Sherlock did.

Working with his boyfriend was amazing, but this wasn't a case that he wanted to be on. It reminded him far too much of what he'd done in Wolf Trap.

Of course, every case was going to make him feel like that, wasn't it? This wasn't supposed to be _fun_ , Will told himself firmly. This was work. And the type of work that he did wasn't something that could be considered enjoyment.

He saw dead bodies, saw the worst of what the world had to offer. He and Sherlock dealt with the bad side of human nature on a daily basis.

He should be used to that already, but it still bothered him.

Still, they saved lives, and that was the important thing. But this time, it felt as though they hadn't been able to do enough. At least, not yet.

Will sighed softly, not realizing that Sherlock was looking at him with a compassionate gaze. "You get very tired of seeing these sorts of things, don't you?" his boyfriend said softly. "So do I, Will. So do I. But we can stop it from happening in the future."

Will nodded, knowing that Sherlock's words were true. By finding this killer and putting them behind bars, they _could_ save people.

And that was, in the end, all that really mattered, Will told himself. As long as they saved lives, it didn't matter that there were things he'd rather not see or deal with. What they did was important, even if they didn't always find it palatable.

Their work was satisfying in that respect. At the end of the day, when they solved a case, he could say that he felt good about himself, and about what he did.

He could be proud of that, and of himself.

"Then let's stop it from happening as soon as possible," Will said softly, following Sherlock away from the crime scene and hoping that they were heading home to their flat.


	47. Preserving His Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock never thought that he would be this happy -- but he also knows that the flip side of happiness is despair.

He wouldn't have thought that it was possible to be this happy.

Sherlock couldn't hold back a smile as he looked over at Will; his boyfriend was working on grading some papers from his classes, oblivious to everything else.

He hoped that Will was as happy as he was; he thought that the other man was much happier here than he ever would have been if he had chosen to stay in Wolf Trap, but Will never said aloud whether he was happy or not. Sherlock simply assumed that he was.

He himself had never expected to find happiness like this. He had always thought that if he was merely able to be content with his life, then that would be enough.

But then, he'd never expected to fall head over heels in love, either. Love was something that had thrown a monkey wrench into his life, but in the best possible way. Love hadn't been part of his plans. Love hadn't been something he was looking for.

Yet still, love had found him -- and he had no regrets whatsoever about it. Love had given him a new lease on life, and had brought him the happiness he now had.

He'd never expected to be happy.

Happiness had always seemed like something that was meant for other people, never for him. He'd had flashes of it, but never a lasting happiness that he could count on.

In fact, he had always distrusted happiness. He had told himself firmly time and time again that it wasn't something that ever lasted, that happiness was only fleeting, and that the flip side of that coin was a deep and paralyzing despair that he didn't want to feel.

He had never really known that sort of despair, either, but he had come close. He'd stood on the edge of that chasm and looked into it, then backed slowly away.

That flip side of happiness wasn't something that he ever wanted to experience. He doubted that he'd be able to survive that sort of crushing blow; he'd had so little in his life to buoy him up that if he suffered the loss of any of it, he would be utterly devastated.

Sherlock paused at that thought, another one striking him only a second later and making him feel as if he'd been doused with a bucket of freezing cold water.

There was even _more_ danger of him feeling that despair now.

Now that he loved, now that he had something precious and rare in his life that he'd never thought he would ever have, it would be doubly devastating to lose it.

Losing Will wasn't an option. It never had been, not from the first moment he had met the other man and gazed into those impossibly blue eyes. Losing Will would be like ripping his own heart out of his body, holding it in his hands, broken and bleeding and gasping its last.

All right, so maybe that was a bit melodramatic, Sherlock thought dryly. But, at the same time, it was nothing more than the truth.

Now that he loved, he had much more to lose than he'd ever had before. If he lost this, he knew that he'd never manage to recover from that kind of a blow.

Which was why he wasn't going to lose Will, he told himself firmly. Nothing would take his love away from him; he would make sure that Will was safe and protected, even though he couldn't wrap him in cotton wool and keep him safe from any and all harm all of the time.

Did everyone feel like this about the person they loved? he mused. He was fairly sure that they did, that everyone wanted to protect their loved one at all costs.

Interesting. Love brought not only happiness, but the shadow of .... fear.

Just thinking of what could happen to Will, how they could be torn apart by his enemies, struck the kind of fear into Sherlock's heart that made his blood freeze in his veins.

He didn't want to think of anything like that. He didn't want to even consider the fact that any of his worst enemies could use Will against him. He didn't want to contemplate the idea that simply being who he was could put his boyfriend in mortal danger.

But that was a fact, and it was one that he had to accept. Yes, he loved, and that love brought him great happiness. But that love could also bring complications.

Would he turn his back on that love, in order to keep Will safe? Sherlock closed his eyes, thinking about what his life had been like before he and Will had come together, and knew that he wouldn't. He couldn't. Now that he loved, he could never turn back.

It had taken so long for love to come into his life. Even to keep that love safe, he couldn't give it up, even if that might be a selfish motive.

He could never walk away from Will and what they shared.

He had never expected to find the happiness that he had in his life, but now that he had it, he would never give it up without one hell of a fight.

If that meant that he might have to face the possibility of some heartache, then he would do that. Though he intended to protect Will to the best of his abilities, which were considerable, and hope that he would never have to face the pain and despair of loss.

It didn't even bear thinking of, Sherlock told himself firmly, pushing that thought away from him. Will was going to be safe with him. He wouldn't be harmed.

He was going to protect the man he loved, and preserve his happiness. There might be times when the two of them would be in danger, but together, they would come through it. Together, they were stronger than anything that they would come up against.

He had to believe in that strength, and believe that this happiness he'd found was going to last. He had to look at his life in a whole new light.

Somehow, Sherlock didn't think that would be too hard for him to do.


	48. Bank Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides that he and Will need a break from working on a baffling case.

"What's a bank holiday?" Will asked Sherlock, curiosity in his blue eyes. "Is that like a national holiday in the States, like Christmas day or something?"

Sherlock nodded, amused by Will's lack of knowledge about something that he'd been used to all of his life. "That's exactly what it is, love," he answered. "It's really just a holiday. It's called a bank holiday because all of the banks are closed."

Will laughed softly, shaking his head. "Another term that's different for me that I'll have to get used to," he murmured. "But it's not a hard one."

"That's been a bit difficult for you, hasn't it?" Sherlock asked.

"What, getting used to some different ways of saying things?" Will considered the question, then shook his head slowly. "Honestly, no, not really. It's not like I hadn't heard some of those terms before; I've just never used them on a daily basis."

Sherlock nodded, absurdly relieved that such things didn't seem to be much of a problem for his boyfriend. He wanted Will to be comfortable here, to feel at home.

There were times when he worried that Will wouldn't adapt to life in London, but from what he could tell, the young man actually enjoyed living here. Still, he couldn't help wondering if there was a part of Will that had to mourn for what he'd left behind in Wolf Trap.

But he wouldn't ask. Somehow, it seemed like an invasion of Will's privacy to do so; if he wanted to talk of the past, then _he_ would bring up the subject.

Did that mean that he was getting better at being more compassionate with people, more sensitive to their feelings? Sherlock had to smile at that idea. In the past, everyone would have said that he was the most insensitive person they'd ever known.

Falling in love with Will had changed him a great deal.

In the past, he would have been railing at the bank holiday, hating the fact that he might need to do some bit of research that involved a place that was closed for the day.

But now, he could let that slide; he wasn't becoming lazy in his work, just more realistic. He didn't expect everything to go his way, or demand that special arrangements be made for him because of who he was and what he did. His ego was .... well, dwindling.

No, not that, he told himself. He was simply learning how to behave more .... for lack of a better word, like a _normal_ person would.

And to his own surprise, he was discovering that he liked himself much better now. He didn't feel that he was as apart from the rest of the world as he had been before.

Maybe that was odd. Maybe he should feel a little resentful that he was no longer out on the edge, able to look dispassionately at other people and not feel that he was a part of their society. Maybe he should be afraid that he would lose his edge.

But somehow, he didn't feel that way. Loving Will hadn't made him less than what he had been; rather, it made him _more_ of a person.

Sherlock liked the changes that had been wrought in him.

"What do you say to the two of us taking a holiday?" he asked Will, the idea coming to him in a rush of inspiration. "We've been working terribly hard on this case, and I don't think that slaving away and worrying ourselves over it is getting us anywhere."

He felt that he _needed_ a break, a respite. Maybe he would be able to see things more clearly after he'd a day of not thinking about the case.

Will needed a break, too; anyone could see that. He obviously hadn't been sleeping well lately, though he'd said nothing to Sherlock about that. There were dark circles under his eyes; he looked as though he'd been worrying about something, and Sherlock wanted to know what it was.

Maybe Will would open up about what was obviously bothering him and talk more freely about how he was feeling if they were both more relaxed.

Will nodded slowly, a small smile on his lips. "I didn't think you would want to take a break until this case was solved," he said, his voice a little hesitant. "But I've been thinking that we both need a break, before this drives us both insane."

Sherlock had to smile at his choice of words.

"I've been called insane often enough before not to like hearing that word in relation to me," he said, keeping his voice soft. "And I certainly don't like applying it to you."

Will smiled at that, his blue gaze meeting Sherlock's. "Sorry about that," he said, his own voice as soft as Sherlock's had been. "I didn't mean it that way. And yeah, taking a break sounds great. Let's go out and do something relaxing. Just spend some time together."

"Time together away from all of this," Sherlock told him, taking his hand. "I have the definite feeling that we both need it. I think it will do us both some good."

Yes, they needed a break. A holiday, just for the two of them.

Sherlock knew that they'd both enjoy the time spent away from the case, and he hoped that they'd return to it rejuvenated, ready to tackle the questions again.

Now the question was: What sort of holiday should they take today, and where should they go? Sherlock knew that he had the answer without thinking about it -- a trip to the countryside, just for the day. It would do them both good to get out of the city.

"I know exactly where we should go," he said with a smile, taking Will's hand. "And once you hear my idea, I think you're going to like it."


	49. A Necessary Component

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ruminates on both his physical and intellectual attraction to Will.

Sherlock glanced over at Will with a smile, enjoying the sight of his boyfriend ensconced in a rocking chair, lost in a book, his eyes avidly scanning the pages.

He loved seeing Will so relaxed, so at ease.

Or maybe he simply loved looking at Will, he thought with a soft smile. He loved everything about this man who he had so unexpectedly fallen for.

Here in the country, Will seemed far more at home than he did in London. Sherlock knew that he was getting used to living in the city, and that it would take a while for him to be completely comfortable there, but he thought that Will was adjusting well.

But this place was more like what he was used to, after living in Wolf Trap for so long. Sherlock made a mental note to come back here again.

He himself felt comfortable here, though that was probably only because he'd come here before when he had wanted to get away from the city. He used this place to think, to steep himself in peace and tranquility when he felt that he needed it.

Which wasn't often, he admitted to himself. But he would probably find himself wanting to share that peace with Will more often in the future.

And if Will enjoyed it, too, then so much the better.

He stole another glance at Will, wondering if the other man realized that he was being observed, but Will was entranced by his book, and didn't look up.

Sherlock smiled as he watched the younger man, relaxing when he realized that Will probably wasn't going to object to being watched, even if he knew that Sherlock was doing so. He so enjoyed seeing Will like this, watching him devour words on a printed page.

He was a sapiosexual, he told himself with an inner smile. He was attracted to intelligence, even more so than good looks, and Will had both in spades.

The intelligence shone through, melding with the beautiful face.

Was it the intelligence that had attracted him at first, or the pretty face? Sherlock wasn't quite which it had been; perhaps it was _both_ of them.

He had been captivated by Will's good looks from the first; he couldn't deny that. It had struck him when he had taken his first good look at the young man just how beautiful Will was, the intensity of his blue eyes, the sweetness of his expression.

Such a beauty hadn't belonged in the dank, dark place that he'd been in at the time, which was one of the myriad of reasons that Sherlock had wanted to get him out of there.

He was only glad that he _had_ discovered that loophole; that he'd found a way to free Will and erase all suspicion from his record.

Those latent fingerprints on the handmade fishing lures, though they had been somewhat blurry, had been proved decisively _not_ to be Will's. Though there might be some people who still believed that Will had made those lures, Sherlock knew that he wasn't a killer.

No, that "evidence" had just been far _too_ convenient, and in the end, he had made the FBI see that. They, too, had agreed that Will wasn't the culprit in these killings.

Of course, they had _wanted_ to agree.

But Sherlock had made them see the light. He had known that he would do so, from the first moment he'd looked into Will's blue eyes and known that he was falling.

Even then, when he'd had to talk to Will from the other side of a literal cage, the young man's intelligence had shone through. There had been no holding that intellect back; it was in those eyes, in the steady gaze that he turned on Sherlock.

It was that intellect that had attracted him -- and, yes, aroused him as well. It was that intellect, combined with the beauty, that made Will so irresistible.

Such intellect didn't come along every day.

And very rarely was it partnered with the kind of physical beauty that Will possessed, he thought, looking over at his boyfriend again. 

Beauty _and_ intelligence -- it was a heady, potent combination. He had never thought that he would have anyone in his life who he could love like this -- and he would never have thought that the person he fell in love with would be so utterly beautiful.

Sherlock had always considered himself a sapiosexual person -- he had always known that _if_ he fell in love, it would be with a mind, not a face or a body.

Though with Will, he had the best of both worlds. He had fallen head over heels for someone who had both the keen intelligence that Sherlock knew he needed to keep him entranced, and also a face and body that inspired .... well, _lust_ , as well as love.

He hated to use the word _lust_ , though. He considered, then amended it to _attraction_. Yes, that word definitely sounded a lot better.

 _Did_ he actually lust after Will? He hadn't really thought about it until now.

Yes, maybe there _was_ a bit of lust mixed in with everything else, if he was completely honest, he told himself. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Lust was only a component of the attraction he felt for Will, after all -- a very _necessary_ component for a healthy relationship. They might not have become physical yet, but Sherlock had no doubt that it was going to happen, in time. There was no rush.

Yet something within him wanted more, wanted the physical side of what they shared to hurry itself along a bit. He was ready, and he hoped that Will was, too.

Maybe now that they were here in the country, it would happen.

That thought brought a smile to his face, one that he couldn't hold back. And in that moment, Will looked up and smiled at him -- and he could swear that he felt his heart turn over.


	50. Overwhelming Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will can't shake off an overwhelming urge to kiss Sherlock.

"I hope this isn't going to bore you."

Will spoke quietly to Sherlock as he baited the hooks at the end of their fishing lines, almost laughing at his boyfriend's expression of helplessness.

"Fishing isn't that hard," he said, smiling as he handed Sherlock the fishing line. "And it's not live bait, either. I don't use that. I use those handmade lures. I've always enjoyed making them -- it's a painstaking job, and it takes my mind off work."

Sherlock nodded, leaning back and stretching slightly. He looked so incredibly sexy, Will thought with a soft smile. So relaxed and comfortable.

He looked like this at home, too, but not in the same way.

Will loved seeing Sherlock completely relaxed; he loved feeling that his boyfriend had finally put cases out of his mind, that he was allowing himself some time off.

He knew that Sherlock's cases were important to him; he had expected that. He had known when they first became involved that this man practically lived for his work, that there wasn't much that was more important to him than what he did for a living.

Though he'd become very sure in the weeks that they'd now been living together that _he_ was more important to Sherlock than any case could ever be.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that he was so important to someone he cared about so much. It wasn't a feeling that he'd ever expected to have, but it wasn't an unwelcome one. In fact, it was a good feeling, that knowledge that he meant something.

He'd never really had that feeling before. No one in his past had ever made him feel that he was special, that he was at the center of their lives.

But Sherlock did. Sherlock made him feel .... _wanted_.

He loved this man, with a love that was strong and true. And not only that, but he _desired_ Sherlock, with a fierce desire he'd never felt before.

that almost frightened him. The idea that _he_ could actually want someone this badly -- Will Graham, the man who always kept his emotions hidden behind and impassive facade -- made him feel unsettled, as though he didn't know himself any more.

He'd thought that he was done with that feeling a long time ago, after everything that Hannibal had done to him had become crystal-clear in his mind.

But apparently, other things could cause that feeling, too.

He had thought that Hannibal's machinations were the only thing that could unsettle his mind and make him become unsure of himself, but that didn't seem to be the case.

That unsettled feeling happened to him whenever he looked at Sherlock, and felt that overwhelming wave of desire rush over him. It was happening now, when all he was doing was stealing a sideways glance at his boyfriend. He felt unsettled, nervous .... and _aroused_.

Just looking at Sherlock made him want to lean over and wrap his arms around his boyfriend's slim waist, press their lips together, and lock them in a torrid embrace.

What would Sherlock do if he leaned over and planted a kiss on those full, tempting lips? At the moment, it was all he could think of -- and all he wanted to do.

The overwhelming desire to kiss Sherlock was starting to consume him; the image of the two of them in an embrace loomed large in Will's mind, the only thing that he could see in his mind's eye. They had waited so long to be physically intimate; it was time to take things a step further.

He _wanted_ Sherlock, wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to run his fingers through that thick, dark hair, to feel those hands on his own body.

He didn't just want a single kiss. He wanted much, much more than that.

That overwhelming desire rose up in him again, more fiercely than he'd thought it could. It was so strong that he caught his breath, almost gasping.

How could he possibly want someone this much? It wasn't time for them to consummate their relationship; he wasn't ready to go that far yet, and he didn't think that Sherlock was, either. But kissing .... ah, now that was another matter entirely.

Kissing Sherlock was the best feeling he'd ever had. The meeting of their lips set something free inside him, something that soared and broke free of earthly tethers.

Something that he'd never thought was inside him until Sherlock had set it free.

He'd _needed_ that freedom, needed to let his spirit take wing and soar to heights that he'd never been able to achieve before, heights he'd never even known existed.

Before Sherlock, it had always felt as though love was something intended for other people, never for him. Will had always been sure that his empathy would keep him from that kind of love; he would never risk his heart being crushed, as he was sure it would be.

With Sherlock, he had taken that chance -- and the rewards for doing so had been manifold. He was glad that he'd taken the risk, that he'd found the courage to step forward.

Now, he had to do that again -- and this time, there was no hesitation, no fear. Kissing Sherlock wouldn't be a risk --- it would be simply moving their relationship a step forward in the direction that it needed to take. A direction that they'd always been headed in.

The overwhelming desire rose in him again, and this time, he couldn't hold it back. He had to do something, had to take action. And he had to do it _now_.

Without a word, he leaned towards Sherlock and pressed their lips together.

That overwhelming desire to kiss, that basorexia, swept over him again -- and this time, he was actually following the dictates of that desire, rather than trying to hold it back. He was letting it come out, fly free, enveloping both himself and Sherlock in his own need.

His arms slid around Sherlock's waist, drawing the other man closer. His lips became more insistent, the heat of the kiss escalating by the second.

All he could feel was that desire, growing ever higher, sparking, flaming, rising to the skies. He wanted this to go on forever; he wanted to kiss Sherlock for the rest of his life, to let this desire run rampant, to let it take over their bodies and souls.

He wanted to lose himself in this kiss, to never come down from these dizzying heights.

But it had to end sometime, as he had known it would. When they finally broke the kiss and he pulled back slightly, Sherlock's arms were around him, not letting him go.

"That was .... marvelous," Sherlock breathed, his voice slightly unsteady. I don't know exactly where it came from, but I'm not going to argue with it. And," he added, his voice very soft, almost breathless, "I think I'd like to do that again. As soon as possible."

"That can be arranged," Will told him -- right before lips met again, the second kiss just as passionate as the first, if not more so.

It was a very long time before the two of them managed to come back up for air.


	51. Thinking About Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock never believed that he was capable of making romantic gestures -- until he fell for Will.

It was odd how being in the country brought out his romantic side.

Sherlock smiled at Will across the table, glad that he had thought to gather some wild flowers and use them for a centrepiece. They added just the right touch.

He had driven their rented car into the town that was only a few miles away, telling Will that he had a few things to do and leaving his boyfriend reading a book on the couch, with Winston at his feet. Will hadn't asked where he was going; he'd just smiled and told him to hurry back.

And he'd done just that, getting the food that he'd ordered very quickly, and picking up some candles for the dinner table while he was there.

He knew that he didn't have to make these little romantic gestures for Will; his boyfriend loved him whether he was romantic or not. And he'd never thought of himself as a romantic person -- but then, he'd never had anyone in his life to be that way for.

He _wanted_ to make these kinds of gestures for Will. He wanted his boyfriend to know that he was loved, and appreciated.

The look in Will's eyes told him that he appreciated the romantic gesture.

"This is really nice," Will said softly, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow in the candlelight. "You went to so much trouble to do this, Sherlock. Thank you."

"It really wasn't any trouble," Sherlock demurred, for some reason not wanting Will to think that he'd spent a great deal of time going out of his way to do this. "I only had to ring up and order our meal, and get a few candles for the table, and pick some flowers."

"And you didn't have to do any of it," Will told him with a smile. "You went out of your way for us to have a romantic dinner. And it's beautiful."

"Thank you, love," Sherlock said with a smile. "I'm glad you like it."

It didn't occur to him until a few moments later that he'd used the word "love" so easily, so freely. It had come to his lips without a moment's thought.

He glanced at Will across the table, nothing the slight pink flush on his normally pale cheeks. So, he had noticed that Sherlock had used that particular four-letter word. He probably hadn't expected to hear it, just as Sherlock hadn't expected to say it.

But using that word in his mind had become easier over time, and now, it just seemed to slip out when he least expected it to. And he didn't mind that at all.

Will didn't seem to mind it, either -- in fact, he used the word, as well. He blushed when he said it, which Sherlock thought was endearing.

Both of them still had so much to learn about that emotion, and about relationships, he told himself as he leaned back in his chair and surreptitiously watched Will. But they seemed to be doing well, without many problems cropping up to impede their forward progress.

He was learning how to open up, how to be part of a couple, and Will was, as well. They were like flowers, blooming in the sunshine of each other's love.

Now _that_ was a romantic thought if he'd ever had one.

How had he become so romantic? he wondered. He'd never been this way before. He'd never even thought of it, and if he had, he would have snorted in derision.

Before Will, he'd always thought that love and romance were something that would distract him from his work, that the two could never be compatible. But of course, that was before he'd fallen for someone whose work was much the same as his own.

He had been lucky to find Will, and he knew it. The two of them fit like the proverbial glove, like two puzzle pieces that had been meant to link together.

Lucky was the least of it. It hadn't been luck, it had been fate.

Fate wasn't something he'd believed in, any more than romance, before Will had come into his life. Will had changed him in so many ways, Sherlock reflected.

And all of those ways were good ones, in his eyes. He had come out of a self-imposed exile, one that he'd always been in, out into a world that seemed fresh and new. He looked at so much in a different light now -- and for the first time, felt that he was actually part of the world around him.

He was happy with Will, he realized. Happier than he'd thought he could ever be, happier than he had ever dreamed was possible for someone like him.

How could this kind of happiness belong to him? How could it be that he'd found this kind of joy, that it had come from simply falling in love with the right person? It didn't seem possible that an emotion he had always pushed aside as being irrelevant could suddenly be so important.

Yet it was, and he couldn't deny it. Love had found him, and he never intended to let it go. He would hang onto it, and he would keep making these romantic gestures.

He would do it for Will. For the two of them.

"You look awfully serious all of a sudden." Will's voice broke into his thoughts, and he raised his head to smile at his boyfriend. "What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock's smile broadened as words came easily to his lips. "Us," he said softly, knowing that his words were nothing more than the unvarnished truth. "I'm thinking about us."


	52. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time since Will went out on an actual date, and he can't help but feel nervous.

Will adjusted his tie, feeling self-conscious as he gazed into the mirror. Did he look okay? Was he dressed appropriately? Should he be more casual?

No, Sherlock had told him that this was a _date_.

He had no idea where they were going; all he knew was that it was a restaurant in the town that their house in the country was close to. An Italian restaurant.

It had been so long since he'd been on a date that he barely remembered what he was supposed to do. He'd never really been in this position before, though; _he'd_ never been the one who was being taken out. He had always done the asking in the past.

It was a new and novel experience, to be the person who was on the receiving end. Will was finding that he liked that experience; it made him feel .... desired.

It was gratifying to know that Sherlock would go to such lengths to please him.

Will smiled at his image in the mirror; he really _did_ look good. He cleaned up nicely when he felt like it, and he would do Sherlock proud.

His dark curls were tumbling over his forehead, but it was a look that suited him, so he didn't push them back. He was wearing a dark blue suit and tie, since Sherlock had said that it was a formal restaurant; the silvery blue shirt set off the blue of his eyes.

Pushing a hand through his hair, Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. His first real date in years. This should be an adventure.

Turning from the mirror, he headed out of his bedroom and downstairs.

By the time he got halfway down the steps and his gaze alighted on Sherlock, he stopped, frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

He wouldn't have thought that any mere human being could look so utterly gorgeous. Sherlock was wearing a midnight blue suit and a pale lavender shirt, his dark hair brushed back, a slight smile on those perfect lips. Will had never seen anyone look so .... utterly desirable.

It should be a sin for anyone to look _that_ good in a suit.

And this man was _his_ , he reminded himself. Sherlock had chosen to be with him; Sherlock wanted him, wanted them to spend their lives together.

How had he gotten so lucky? Will moved down the last few steps as though in a dream, walking up to his boyfriend and taking Sherlock's hands in his own.

"You look gorgeous," he said, the only words he could think of that seemed to fit the moment.

"So do you, Will," Sherlock answered, a smile on his lips as he pulled Will into his arms. Those pale eyes gazed into his, so much promise in their depths, a promise that Will wanted to answer with his own gaze. Seconds later, those lips were on Will's.

He couldn't think, could barely breathe. When Sherlock kissed him like this, it was as though the world fell away, and there was nothing left but the two of them.

His hands moved to thread through Sherlock's hair, drawing him closer.

All he wanted was for this kiss to go on forever; they didn't need to go out, even though they had both taken the time to dress nicely. He just needed to be with Sherlock.

They could do that best here, alone, in this house that they'd rented, the house where they had complete and utter privacy. The house where, if things went as he was hoping they would, he could give himself to Sherlock in every way, physically as well as emotionally.

Will was tempted to suggest that they cancel their reservations, that they stay at home, and begin to travel down that path of desire to see just where it might lead them.

But no, they couldn't do that. Not tonight.

Sherlock had taken the time to make reservations at a nice restaurant, and to _ask_ Will out on a date. He couldn't cancel those plans.

He wanted to spend the evening out with Sherlock, wanted to show his handsome boyfriend off to the rest of the world. He wanted to be seen with this man, to allow himself to feel pride at being the person who Sherlock Holmes chose to be with.

These thoughts flashed through his mind within a few seconds; when they finally pulled away from the kiss, all he could do was stare into Sherlock's eyes.

All thoughts, all words, had disappeared from his mind.

All he could do was gaze at Sherlock, losing himself in those gorgeous eyes. Losing himself in that look of love, the look that made his breath catch in his throat.

"Are you ready, my sweet?" Sherlock asked, his voice low and husky. That voice did strange things to Will's heart; he was sure that he could feel it turning somersaults in his chest, trying to burst out of his body to nestle within Sherlock's embrace.

He nodded in acknowledgement of Sherlock's words, then finally managed to find his voice. "Yeah, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady.

Inside, he felt anything _but_ steady. He was quivering with anticipation.

Anything could happen once they got home from their date. Going out to dinner and talking was only the beginning of the evening. Much more could happen after that.

There was no telling what they might talk about. They might not even be able to make it through dinner; it was possible that they would be home much sooner than they planned.

And if they were .... Will's heart raced at the thought of what could happen, if they were both in the right mood and felt that they were ready to take the next step in their relationship.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait for the night to begin.


	53. Shot in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes that he and Will aren't as safe and protected as he'd thought they were.

There was something soothing about the night, Sherlock told himself as he stood on the porch of their rented country house and looked out into the woods. This place felt so peaceful; it was a very different atmosphere from the city that he was used to.

It was comforting, this darkness that surrounded him.

He had always relied on darkness when he was hunting criminals. He had used it to keep to the shadows, to make sure that his presence was cloaked. He was good at that.

But darkness wasn't always good. Even though it could hide him, it could always hide things from even his eagle eye. It was yin and yang, just like everything else in life, he mused. Good and bad, dark and light. The darkness could go both ways.

The darkness outside at the moment felt comfortable, but Sherlock knew that it wouldn't always be so. The darkness could turn frightening at any time.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the darkness that his life would be plunged into if he lost Will. That was a darkness very different from the kind that he was facing now, or the kind that he dealt with when he was trying to solve a case.

Even a particularly complicated case that seemed to have no solution wasn't as dark as the emptiness that would open around him without Will in his life.

That was a darkness that he didn't want to face.

That was a darkness he would never be able to pull himself out of, one that would envelop him until he was swallowed up in it, buried alive, unable to find the light again. He would be a shell of the man he was now, merely existing, not actually living.

The thought made him shudder with revulsion. He didn't want to live like that.

Will was the light in his life, his beacon of hope, his safe haven. He wasn't going to lose the man he loved; he would do everything in his power to make sure of that.

And, wonder of wonders, Will felt the same about him. They might not be intimate yet, but they were getting there. They didn't have to rush; there was no need for them to jump into bed merely to experience all of the sensations that would eventually be theirs.

Will wasn't going to simply disappear from his life. Will wouldn't get tired of him. He wasn't the kind of man to make promises he didn't keep.

No darkness was going to creep into their lives to take Will away from him. He was being silly to think that; it was simply paranoia trying to take over.

Will wasn't a false lover. He wouldn't be here if he didn't _want_ to be; he felt the same as Sherlock did, and their relationship meant just as much to him. He wasn't going to turn and walk away. He wasn't going to simply disappear forever into some murky darkness.

Sherlock took a deep breath, pushing that thought resolutely away from him. This wasn't the time for him to entertain such dark, depressing thoughts.

They had come here to relax, and to be happy. Not to obsess.

At the precise moment that the thought coalesced in his head, he heard a sound in the woods, something that sounded like a stick breaking. It could be some wild animal; perhaps a deer had stepped on a fallen branch. That was all it was. Nothing to worry about.

An involuntary cry came from his lips when a shot rang out.

It took Sherlock a moment to realize that the shot hadn't been aimed at _him_ ; rather, it seemed to be aimed towards the house. Into the room where Will sat on the couch.

Within seconds, he was reacting, running back into the house, his gaze sweeping the living room to make sure that Will was all right. For a moment, he didn't see his boyfriend; he panicked, another soft cry rising to his lips, only to be squelched an instant later.

Will came out of the kitchen, holding a gun in both hands, the expression on his face grim. When he saw Sherlock, he lowered the gun, holding out a hand.

"Nothing. Nobody here that I can see," he said, his words soft, then gaining strength as he continued to speak. "I think the case we're working on might have followed us here. Or it could be something entirely new." He shook his head, sighing. "It all happened so fast."

Sherlock nodded, going to where Will stood and taking the gun from his hand. "Are you all right, Will?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Will looked up at him, nodding, his blue eyes wide with fear and worry.

"Are _you_ all right?" he asked, his voice very soft. "All I could think about when I heard that shot was that you were outside, and they were aiming for you."

"I'm fine, Will." His voice was shaky; relief coursed through him, making him feel weak. Will was safe; that was all that mattered to him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, closing his eyes, burying his face against Will's hair.

It felt as though the darkness was closing in on them, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt helpless, trapped, not knowing which way to turn.

That wasn't a feeling he was used to, and he didn't like it at all.

One single shot in the dark had destroyed their peace and tranquility, and Sherlock didn't think that they were going to get it back any time soon.


	54. Hunter and Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock feels that he and Will are becoming caught up in a cat and mouse game with their unknown nemesis.

"Well, this certainly makes the idea of going out on a date a little awkward."

Sherlock tried to laugh off what had just happened, but Will shook his head, frowning and looking serious as he stepped back from his boyfriend.

"No, I don't think we should cancel our date," he said slowly, as though he was thinking about what he was saying even as he spoke. "If we do, then whoever just took that shot is going to feel like they've won. They want to disrupt our lives. I don't think we should let them."

"We may be giving them the satisfaction of disrupting our plans for the evening, but going out may put us in a vulnerable position," Sherlock pointed out. "It isn't safe, WIll."

"And since when was safety such a major concern for you?" Will asked him, folding his arms across his chest. "You're always putting yourself into dangerous situations. I don't want you treating me like I'm some kind of porcelain doll, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed softly, knowing that Will was right. He couldn't constantly protect his boyfriend, no matter how much he might want to do just that.

Will was used to danger, Sherlock reminded himself.

After all, his boyfriend had once been an FBI agent. He was used to being in the middle of bad situations; he didn't need to be constantly protected.

Will was a brave man, and a resourceful one. He probably felt the same as Sherlock did; he wanted to be able to protect the people he loved from harm. Sherlock took a deep breath, nodding to acknowledge the truth of Will's words as he, too, stepped back.

"Perhaps we shouldn't cancel our date, but ...." He looked around the house, frowning. "We need to call in the police, Will. Tell them what's happened here."

Will frowned, then sighed and nodded in agreement.

"So I guess going out isn't in the cards for tonight," he said, sounding disappointed. "We need to be here when the cops get here, and tell them everything that happened."

Sherlock nodded slowly, wishing that he had simply driven them into the town. But he had wanted tonight to be wonderfully romantic, so he had called a cab, which was why they had been waiting. If they hadn't been, then none fo this would have happened.

His mind quickly moved forward, thinking about what could have happened if they'd gone out on their date -- and then returned home late at night.

Whoever had shot at Will could have been waiting for them -- and this time, they might have had a clearer shot at him when they were getting out of the car.

Will could easily be dead now, if their evening had gone more as planned. Sherlock shivered at that thought, pushing it away, forcing it out of his mind. Well, they hadn't gone out, and Will was very much safe and alive. The attempt on his life had failed.

Unless .... it _hadn't_ been an attempt to kill Will, but rather, a warning to them both. That was what this felt like. A warning shot, to give them a heads up.

But why would someone who wanted to harm either of them do such a thing?

It was almost as though the person who was behind this saw it as a game -- one where they were the prey, and their unknown assailant was the hunter.

Sherlock didn't like that idea at all. He was used to having criminals come after him, and no doubt Will was, as well. But he didn't want to think about Will being a target for anyone; the thought of some unnamed killer coming after his boyfriend made rage rise within him.

If anyone tried to harm Will, he would kill them with his bare hands, no matter how awkward that might be to explain to the authorities.

Still, it would be self-defense, wouldn't it? If there was someone who was determined to come after Will, then in Sherlock's eyes, that person was after the _both_ of them. And protecting his boyfriend would be basically the same thing as protecting himself.

Sighing, he turned his head towards the front door as he heard the wail of sirens; Will had obviously already called the police, and they were getting here quickly.

So, that meant that they definitely wouldn't be going out tonight.

It would be awkward enough to deal with explaining what had happened to the police, without telling them that they wanted to carry on with their plans for the evening.

Now they would spend their evening talking to the police -- and cleaning up the glass of the window, as well as putting something over it until they could get someone to come out and replace the broken shards in the morning -- rather than having a romantic dinner.

Sherlock sighed softly, taking out his phone. He would call the restaurant and cancel their reservation, and hope that they could make it there another time.

This was maddening. He didn't want to deal with the awkwardness of the police.

But they really had no choice, he told himself as he waited for someone at the Italian restaurant to pick up the phone. They couldn't just leave the house now.

He couldn't help feeling as though they were being herded in a particular direction, onto the path that this unknown person wanted them to tread. He had the sneaking suspicion that they were being manipulated, that whoever was behind this played a cat and mouse game.

Well, it wasn't a game that their nemesis was going to win, he vowed to himself. He and Will weren't going to be manipulated or frightened into making a wrong move.

They would be the eventual victors in this battle. He'd bet his life on that fact.


	55. Back From the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is fairly certain that he knows exactly where the threat to himself and Will is coming from.

"Do you think this could be something from one of our pasts coming back to haunt us?" Will looked anxiously at Sherlock, sipping at his cup of tea.

Sherlock shook his head decisively, frowning as he did so.

"Will, you don't really believe that something -- or someone -- would come back from the past to threaten us, do you?" he asked, his gaze resting on his boyfriend.

Even as he said the words, Sherlock could feel his heart rate speed up. He knew better than most people that the past _could_ come back, especially when it was least expected. It had a tendency to show up at terribly inconvenient times.

Like when he was trying to have a restful bit of a vacation in the countryside with his boyfriend, he thought sourly. He should have known something like this would happen.

Now it only remained to find out just _who_ had come back.

He didn't think it was anyone from _his_ past; as far as he knew, all of his biggest enemies were dead, and there was no coming back from _that_. But he was more worried about Will's past, and who just might have a vendetta against them.

Hannibal. That was the person he was focused on now. Sherlock was almost positive that only Hannibal would be so bold as to attack them in such a way.

Besides, who else would want to go after Will, if not that bastard? No one else would have any reason to take a shot at his boyfriend.

Just thinking about the fact that _someone_ had leveled a bullet at Will, even if it hadn't actually done any damage, made Sherlock's anger boil to the surface. No one was going to threaten Will and get away with it. Not while he was around.

Whoever had done this, he would find them and punish them.

No one had a right to come into their lives and disrupt them this way. No one had a right to take shots at Will when he hadn't _done_ anything.

"You think it's Hannibal, don't you>" Will asked, breaking into Sherlock's thoughts. "He's really the only person who would do something that bold. Taking a shot at someone isn't his usual way of working, so it was probably just a warning."

"Warning or not, he's still a dangerous man, and we need to be on our guard," Sherlock told him, his voice quiet and serious. "He could hurt you, Will."

"Or you," Will whispered, his voice trembling. "If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself. It'd be my fault, too, because I led you to him."

Sherlock remembered the look on Hannibal's face when he had found out that Will was leaving the States to move to London, to live with Sherlock. He had no doubt that Hannibal had been enraged -- and now, he was putting some sort of vengeful plan into action.

That might sound melodramatic, but Sherlock didn't doubt it was the truth. This was part of Will's past that was coming back with a vengeance.

But he was determined to defeat that past, to leave it in the dust.

The expression on Lecter's face when he had said the words "Will belongs to me" was something that he could never forget. He had been face to face with pure evil in that moment. He'd felt nothing but revulsion, a hatred that he'd rarely known before.

He wasn't going to let that monster get anywhere near Will again. Will was _his_ , his to protect and be with. His to love, his to spend his life with.

If Lecter thought to come after them and turn their world upside down, then he would have a hard time of it. Together, Sherlock thought, he and Will would defeat that evil.

Hannibal might be back from the past to try and disrupt Will's life, but he hadn't reckoned on just how strong Will had become -- or just how much Sherlock was determined to keep him safe. If it came down to a confrontation, then he was ready for it.

Yes, he would confront Lecter. In fact, he looked forward to it.

He wanted to make sure that monster knew that he no longer had a place in Will's life. After what he had done to Will, he belonged in a jail cell.

Sherlock dearly wanted to put him there, but at the moment, he didn't have enough proof to do so. Once he did, then he would make sure that Lecter ended up where he belonged -- no matter what he might have to do to get that proof across to the right people.

His boyfriend was no longer going to be chained to his past, Sherlock thought grimly. Not if he could help it. He'd do anything to set Will free from those chains.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Will," he said softly, reaching out to take his boyfriend's hand.

"It had better not," Will answered, raising Sherlock's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "Because I wouldn't know to live the rest of my life without you in it."

Those words warmed Sherlock's heart; no one had ever cared for him so deeply before, or shown such a complete devotion to him. "I'll be all right, Will," he murmured, his gaze meeting the other man's. "And so will you. We'll get through this, and we'll come out on the winning side."

Sherlock hoped that he was telling the truth. At the moment, he had the feeling that they would both face more danger than they had bargained for, within a very short time.


	56. Good Over Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will isn't going to let Hannibal's evil triumph over himself and Sherlock.

Will slowly stripped off his suit, his movements slow. He felt tired, as though his limbs were weighed down and it was hard for him to move.

He should have known that Hannibal wouldn't leave him alone.

Of course, they couldn't be _sure_ that it was Hannibal who was threatening them. Sherlock had enough enemies; it could be one of them.

But something told him that this _was_ Hannibal. He could simply _feel_ it, as though the other man had somehow telegraphed his presence to Will via his senses. Hannibal wanted him, and that monster was determined to have him.

He'd always known that there was something twisted about the so-called "friendship" he'd had with Hannibal at one time. This was proof of that convolution.

This wasn't friendship. This was a dark, twisted obsession.

It was as though Hannibal had some dark intent of taking him back to Wolf Trap, of bringing him back under some sort of control. WIll shivered at the thought.

The only way that would happen was if he went back to Wolf Trap in a body bag -- and if Sherlock was gone. He didn't want to think of either possibility, though he was fairly sure that was at least part of what Hannibal had in mind for them.

He knew that Hannibal hadn't wanted him out of Wolf Trap, and that he certainly hadn't wanted Sherlock to be in Will's life. Hannibal had made that obvious.

But wasn't following them to their rented house in the country and taking potshots at him through a window going too far, even for Hannibal? Will considered that, then slowly shook hs head, closing his eyes with a soft sigh as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

No, it wasn't going too far. Hannibal would do anything to achieve an objective, once he had a goal in his mind. He would stop at nothing.

And Will knew that murder meant nothing to him.

He had known that from the first vision he'd had of Hannibal intubating him while he was in the midst of a seizure -- one of those seizures that Hannibal had induced.

It had become all too obvious to him that the man he'd considered to be a friend had been his worst enemy, using him as some sort of experiment for his own amusement. That still rankled; he hated the fact that he had been so blind, and had been used so shamelessly.

But he had gotten away from all of that, Will reminded himself. Thanks to Sherlock, he now had a new life, one that he didn't intend to turn his back on.

If Hannibal thought that he could come here and force back into a life of fear and degradation, then he had another think coming, Will told himself firmly.

There was no way that he was going to let Hannibal win another round. He might think that he was going to be the ultimate victor in their little game of cat and mouse, but Hannibal hadn't bargained on the fact that Will would have Sherlock's brilliance on his side.

Of course, Hannibal didn't think that anyone could defeat him. He had gotten away with his crimes for far too long; that success had made him much too cocky.

His hubris would be his downfall. Will and Sherlock would see to that.

Will's fists clenched at his sides; he closed his eyes, taking first one deep breath, then another. He needed to calm himself, needed to keep a clear head.

Most of all, he had to have faith in Sherlock, and in himself. He had to believe that together, the two of them could defeat Hannibal, could finally put that monster behind bars where he belonged. He had to believe that the two of them could achieve that goal.

Will squared his shoulders, taking another deep breath and feeling his courage firm within him. He _was_ going to hold on to his faith.

Together, he and Sherlock were a formidable team -- personally as well as professionally. The two of them would see this through; they could do whatever they set out to accomplish, as long as they stuck together and had faith in each other and in their abilities.

Hannibal wasn't going to defeat them. They'd won over him before, hadn't they? He was here, not in jail, or in Wolf Trap. He was free of all that.

Hannibal had lost once, and he would lose again.

Maybe good didn't always triumph over evil, but this time it would, Will told himself firmly. This time, the evil that was Hannibal Lecter didn't stand a chance.

They would stand up to him, beat him back, and show him that his reign was over. They'd managed to do that once, but Hannibal probably felt that his coming here to London had been a sign that he was turning tail and running away. That wasn't the case.

He had come here to make a life for himself, a life with the man he loved. He wouldn't let a monster from his past take that new life away from him.

He had faith in himself, and in Sherlock. They would prevail in the end. He knew it.

What he needed now was to get a good night's sleep, and tomorrow, the two of them would be ready to tackle whatever Hannibal could throw at them.

Will sighed softly, rubbing his eyes as he got to his feet and pulled back the covers. He wanted to be with Sherlock tonight, not here in his own bed by himself.

And why shouldn't he be? With that thought in mind, Will went to the door, opening it and padding silently out into the hallway, his footsteps leading him to Sherlock's bedroom.


	57. Where His Heart Leads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't want to be alone in his own room tonight.

Will hesitated for just a moment outside Sherlock's door, unsure as to whether he should follow through on this impulse and actually go in.

What if Sherlock didn't want this? What if he wasn't ready for them to be close? What if he would prefer to spend the night thinking about what had happened, and if he needed this time to ruminate on the case that had suddenly presented itself to them?

It might be better for him to go back to his own room, get back into bed, and try to go to sleep, and think about this kind of decision in the morning.

Will shook his head, annoyed with himself for overthinking.

It was now or never. If he didn't do this tonight, to bring himself closer to Sherlock in the physical sense, he might lose his nerve later on.

No, he wasn't going to do that. He and Sherlock would only grow closer as time went by; he was sure of that. But at the moment, he didn't want to be alone. He _needed_ to be with the man he loved, to be in Sherlock's arms so he could feel safe.

With that thought in mind, he pushed the door open, entering Sherlock's room, his gaze moving directly to the bed, knowing that Sherlock would be there.

The other man sat up with a slight gasp, his pale eyes widening. "Will! What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. "Are you all right? Has anything else happened?" Will could hear the worry in his tone.

He shook his head, hastily reassuring Sherlock that he was all right. "No, nothing else happened. I just .... Sherlock, I _need_ to be with you right now."

There was no hesitation on Sherlock's part, not for an instant.

He held out his arms to Will, moving over slightly in the bed to make room for the younger man to slip under the covers beside him. "I don't blame you, love."

Will advanced towards the bed, sitting down and leaning against Sherlock. He felt those strong arms slide around his waist; within moments, his own arms were around Sherlock, and he was locked in a gentle embrace that felt warm and comforting.

He wouldn't have thought that Sherlock Holmes would be the sort of person who could offer such comfort, but he'd have been wrong about that, he told himself.

Some people might think that Sherlock was a cold man, but they would be so wrong about that. He was only distant with those that he didn't know; he wasn't the type of person to give his trust easily. But once he did, that trust was complete and absolute.

He was not only warm, but he was loving and considerate. He was gentle and strong at the same time, the kind of man that Will had always wanted in his life.

And now, he had what he had always been searching for.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that he'd gotten so lucky, yet here he was, living in England, living with Sherlock, more deeply in love than he'd thought possible.

Sherlock smoothed Will's hair back gently, looking into his eyes. "Will, is something wrong?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle. "Well, I know that there's something wrong, of course. You were shot at. But is there something other than that?"

Will shook his head, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder. "No, not really. I just .... needed to be with you. I didn't want to be alone."

Sherlock's hand was in his hair, stroking through the dark curls.

"I don't blame you for that," he said softly. "I didn't really want to be alone, either. All I could think of was how much I wanted to be with you, to hold you."

Will nodded, overwhelmed almost to the point of tears by those words. How could anyone think that this man was cold and distant? Sherlock was the warmest, most loving person he'd ever known; he was lucky to have captured such a heart.

He relaxed into Sherlock's embrace, comforted by their closeness, by the gentle hand that moved up and down his back, soothing him.

Going back to his own room was an impossibility now; he _needed_ to stay the night in this room, in this bed, with Sherlock beside him. He didn't usually give in to this kind of weakness, but tonight, he just needed to be held, to know that his love was near.

If Sherlock didn't want him here, then of course he would go back to his own room, but he would do so with bitter disappointment in his heart.

He didn't want to move. He was right where he belonged.

"Is it okay if I stay here tonight?" he asked, raising his face to Sherlock's. Will was sure that he could feel his heart stop, just for a moment.

He held his breath, waiting for the words. When they came, he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face, the leap that his heart took within his chest. "Of course you can stay, love," Sherlock whispered, his voice soft and loving. "As long as you need to."

Will closed his eyes, sinking into that gentle embrace, letting the comfort of being held in Sherlock's strong arms seep through him.

He didn't intend to go anywhere for the rest of the night. Or ever.

There was nowhere else that he needed or wanted to go. He was exactly where his heart had led him, and he was comfortable right here.

He didn't realize it when Sherlock turned off the light and settled down next to him; by that time, he was fast asleep in his boyfriend's arms, a smile curving his lips as he dreamed.


	58. No Longer Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to prove himself worthy of Will's trust -- and his love.

Sherlock looked down at the man sleeping in his arms, feeling his heart clutch in his chest.

Will trusted him so much, depended on him so much. How could he be sure that he wouldn't let this man down in some way?

He wanted so much to live up to the expectations that Will had of him, and he hoped desperately that he could. But in some ways, he couldn't help feeling that Will had put him up on a pedestal, and Sherlock knew that it would be a long fall to the bottom.

How could he be sure that he wouldn't take some wrong turn, that he wouldn't make a wrong move that could completely change Will's image of him?

He sighed softly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the pillow.

Will loved him. He wasn't going to turn away simply because Sherlock might make a mistake; Will knew that he was only human, that he wasn't perfect.

He'd never felt that he had to live up to anyone's expectations before. Even when John had been working with him, he had never felt the need to be more than he was, to live up to anything that his colleague might expect him to be.

With Will, it was different. This man placed such trust in him; Will might not _expect_ him to be some kind of Superman, but he _wanted_ to be.

He wanted to be everything that Will could ever possibly want or need, and more. He wanted to live up to every dream, every expectation that Will could ever have, to be worthy of the trust that his boyfriend had so obviously placed in him.

He'd always felt that trust was a tenuous thing, easily broken, but not as easily given. trust was so hard to come by; many people found it difficult to give their trust.

He certainly did. He'd done so very rarely in his life.

Will seemed competely capable of giving that trust, even though Sherlock knew that it must be difficult for him, too, especially after all that he'd been through.

Yet Will was handing him that trust on a silver platter, making it clear that he knew Sherlock would protect him, that he felt _safe_. Had anyone ever told him that before? That they felt safe with him? He didn't think so. No one had ever trusted him that much.

He wanted to be worthy of Will's trust, to live up to it. He wanted to protect this man, to keep him safe and happy for the rest of their lives.

He wanted to be worthy of this man's _love_ , the love that had been given to him so freely and openly. He wanted to know that he had _earned_ that love.

Maybe he already had, by getting Will out of prison and bringing him here, by giving him a new life. But it didn't feel like nearly enough. He wanted to do so much more; he wanted to pledge himself to Will for the rest of their lives, and even beyond.

 _For the rest of their lives._ The thought made Sherlock's eyes widened; he hadn't realized until that precise moment just what he had been thinking of.

Marriage. A legal bond. Lives spent together. _Eternity_ spent together.

Yes, that _was_ what he wanted. A lifetime with Will, all the days and nights of their future. Not only WIll's trust, but his everlasting love.

Sherlock closed his eyes as the realization rocketed through him. He'd known that he was in love with Will, of course; he had known that from the very first kiss. But he hadn't realized the depth of his love until this moment, until he'd really contemplated their future.

He wanted to have this each and every night of his life -- Will falling asleep in his arms, holding his love as he fell asleep, knowing that they would wake next to each other.

If Will had given _him_ his trust, then he had done the same. Before he'd met this man, he would never have trusted anyone to sleep by his side, in his arms -- he would never have let anyone dare to get this close to him, either physically or emotionally.

But Will had broken down all those walls that he'd built around himself. Will held his heart in those beautiful hands of his, and Sherlock knew that he would never let it break.

Will had his trust. His _complete_ trust. And his love.

It almost felt odd to realize that he was utterly, completely in love -- but at the same time, it made him feel whole, complete in a way that he never had before.

So this was what it was like to love. This was what it was like to give one's heart, one's complete trust, to the person you loved. It was an entirely new feeling for him, and one that he welcomed. For the first time, Sherlock felt as though he'd joined the rest of the world.

No longe rwas he marching out of step, different from everyone else. He had found his love, his partner, the one he trusted with his heart, his soul, his very life.

He was no longer alone.

That thought filled him with a greater joy than he could ever have thought existed. He never had to fear loneliness again.

He would never have to be alone again, Sherlock told himself, smiling as he lay down beside Will, taking the young man into his arms. He had Will's love and trust, and they would always be his. And Will would have the same from him, in equal measure.

He would love Will for all of his life, and long after. And he knew that Will would love him just as much -- and that their trust in each other would never fade.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips, dreaming of their future.


	59. A Sense of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up in the morning with Will in his arms is a new -- and pleasurable -- experience for Sherlock.

Sherlock woke up slowly, every sense tingling.

It took him a moment to realize that Will was in bed beside him, curled into his arms, still fast asleep. He blinked, searching for remembrance of the night before.

Then it all came flooding back to him -- their date that had been cut short, the shot, the broken window, the police. Will had been a target last night, and he'd been unable to do anything to prevent it from happening. That was going to rankle for a long time to come.

Of course, he wasn't Superman, Sherlock told himself, his arms tightening around Will to draw him closer. He couldn't keep everyone safe. It was useless to try.

But he should be able to protect the man he loved, above all else.

He sighed softly, resting his cheek against Will's soft dark curls, letting the other man's heartbeat, so slow and steady against his own, calm him into a sense of peace.

Feeling Will here next to him should have been odd, even a little disturbing. But, instead, it only felt _right_ , peaceful and soothing. Will's soft breathing, the scent of his hair, the feel of that soft skin against his own .... it all felt as though it was meant to be.

Knowing that Will was here, safe in his bed, made him feel better. At least he didn't have to worry about where his boyfriend was; he had Will in his arms.

It surprised him to realize that Will was shirtless; his boyfriend must have gotten overheated during the night and removed some of his clothes. It should have bothered him.

But somehow, it didn't. It felt good to have Will's bare skin against him, even though he still had on his nightshirt. Briefly, Sherlock considered taking it off -- but that would mean that he had to move, and that might awaken Will from his slumber.

He wasn't going to do that. His boyfriend needed sleep after what he'd been through the night before; he had to rest and recover from the shock of being shot at.

He didn't want Will to be any the worse for wear from that experience.

Of course, Will had been through worse than merely being shot at, Sherlock reflected. But that didn't mean that it wasn't still a shock to have it happen.

Now, they had to clear their minds and try to concentrate on catching the person who had taken a shot at Will -- even though they both knew who it was. It could be no one but Hannibal; Will had already said that, and Sherlock fully agreed with him.

But for the moment, they could lie here in bed, and simply enjoy being together. He intended to do just that, for as long as he possibly could.

They could face the future when they were both feeling ready to do so.


	60. The Illusion of Safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is shaken by the fact that death has come so close to him.

Death had come so close to him last night.

Will lay in Sherlock's arms, deliberately keeping his breathing slow and steady, hoping that Sherlock would think that he was asleep.

He didn't feel ready to talk about the previous night yet; he wanted to merely lie here in Sherlock's arms and enjoy just being close to the man he loved, being held in those strong arms and feeling safe and protected. safety was just an illusion, but he wanted to hold on to it.

He couldn't expect Sherlock to spend every moment trying to keep him safe. He had to watch Sherlock's back, too, especially when they were dealing with Hannibal.

There was no way this couldn't be laid directly at Hannibal's feet.

No one else would want to shoot at him. The only other explanation was that someone was trying to get at Sherlock by harming him, and he didn't think that was the case.

Will was sure that this was Hannibal; it was the way that the bastard would work. Stir up feelings of fear and unease, and then pounce, heading in for the kill when he was least expected. That was how sneaky he would be. But they would be ready for him.

He wasn't about to cower back in fear, or let Hannibal get the best of him. That had happened once, and it wasn't going to happen a second time.

Hannibal didn't have the upper hand this time. He might have the element of surprise on his side, but Will had Sherlock on his. He had the power of good, the power of justice. 

Hadn't Sherlock prevailed over Hannibal when they were in Wolf Trap, and his lover had gotten him out of jail? He had been able to overturn all of Hannibal's plans, and not only set him free, but whisk him away to a new life across the ocean, far away from the past.

Yet it seemed that the past had followed him here. Will couldn't stop a shudder from going through his body involuntarily at the thought.

Hannibal had only wanted him imprisoned before. Now the bastard wanted him dead.

Death had tried to reach for him last night; he didn't know if it had only been a warning shot, or if Hannibal had intended to kill him and had simply .... missed.

Maybe he'd just had bad aim, and he had intended that shot to be Will's death. If that was so, then Will knew that he and Sherlock had to watch their backs every second. They really couldn't stay here for much longer, either; they had to get back to London.

Somehow, he felt that they would be safer there, in territory that Sherlock knew like the back of his hand. They'd be able to track Hannibal down more easily in the city.

And if death tried to come for him again, they would be prepared to take it on.


	61. Another Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are too many thoughts whirling through his head for Will to be able to sleep.

Will slipped out of bed, going to the window to look out at the night.

He couldn't sleep, and rather than tossing and turning all night and possibly waking Sherlock from his slumber, he thought it would be best to get out of bed for a while.

Maybe if he made himself a cup of tea and sipped it slowly, he would be more tired and he'd finally be able to drift off. He sighed, resting his head against the windowpane as his eyes scanned the street below. Maybe he would be able to sleep then, but he doubted it.

He'd hoped that the insomnia wouldn't come back, but it seemed to be with him in full force now. His head was whirling, filled with too many images, too many thoughts.

Trying to sleep when he felt like this was useless; he knew that from long experience. The best thing he could do was to simply get up, let his mind wander, and hope that he would eventually fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion before the end of the night.

He really hadn't wanted to deal with this again. He'd been so sure that the insomnia was gone, that being here in a new place had banished it for good.

Well, he'd obviously been wrong about that, Will thought with a sigh.

He went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Winston padding softly along after him. He bent down to pet the dog, smiling when Winston licked his hand.

Here was one thing that hadn't changed -- he still had his faithful dog with him. Winston hadn't abandoned him when he'd been in jail, as so many of his false "friends" had done. His dog believed in him -- and so did his boyfriend, the man sleeping in the other room.

It warmed his heart to think of what he and Sherlock shared; he'd never known any emotion so strong, had anyone care about him so deeply.

Sherlock was nothing like the people he'd known in his old life.

His life had changed when he and Sherlock had found each other, changed for the better. But he couldn't help worrying that he'd changed Sherlock's life for the worse.

If it wasn't for him, then Sherlock wouldn't have to deal with Hannibal. He wouldn't have people shooting into the house he was staying in, trying to get at Will. He wouldn't have to look over his shoulder and feel as though he was being persecuted.

Of course, Sherlock probably felt that way a lot of the time, given the cases that he took on, Will thought, sighing again. But having him here wasn't helping.

Still, he and Sherlock were committed to each other. They were going to stay together, and they would see this through. Hannibal wasn't going to beat them.

And besides, he really had nowhere else to go, did he? He'd given up the house in Wolf Trap when he had moved here; there was nothing to go back to. He had no job in the States any more; he'd made a new life for himself in London, one that he didn't want to leave.

There was no reason to leave, he told himself firmly. He didn't even need to think about that. Leaving wasn't an option, not for himself or for Sherlock.

They weren't going to fold and give in at the first sign of trouble.

If Hannibal thought that he was going to destroy them through intimidation and fear, then he was wrong, Will told himself firmly. He and Sherlock were stronger than that.

Hannibal had to realize that no matter what he did, Will wasn't going back to Wolf Trap. He had to accept that things had changed, and move on. But of course, Hannibal wasn't the kind of person to accept defeat -- or to give up anything he thought he wanted.

Will shuddered at that thought. Hannibal wanted _him_ , and he wasn't going to stop at anything if he thought he could achieve his goal.

They would have to watch their backs every moment of every day.

He looked out of the window to the street below, his gaze searching for anything that seemed out of place. Was Hannibal out there even now, watching their flat?

He didn't doubt that it was Hannibal who had fired that shot into the country house. No one else would be coming after them in such a way -- or be so bold. And no one else was after Will, either. Anyone else but Hannibal would have aimed that shot at Sherlock.

He would worry about that all night, and probably for a lot of days and nights to come, until this was over and Hannibal was caught and put behind bars.

Will resolutely turned his mind away from the other possibilities of what could happen; he didn't want to let himself think about Hannibal getting what he wanted, wrenching him away from Sherlock and forcing him back to a life that he no longer had any interest in leading.

Or, worse, the possibility of both of them being .... dead. He knew that Hannibal was ruthless enough to kill them both, if he decided that was what he wanted.

If Hannibal wanted them dead, then they'd just have to get to him first.

The world would be a much better place with Hannibal out of the way -- not just behind bars, but gone for good. They just had to hope that they could take him out before he got to them.

Will closed his eyes, resigning himself to another long, sleepless night. He was sure that there would be many more in store for him.


	62. Come Back To Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Will can't sleep, he decides that a cup of tea will help him settle down.

Will sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

He had decided to make himself a cup of tea, though he doubted that it would help him sleep. He was sure that he was far beyond sleep tonight.

He hated this; he hated that thoughts of the past were crowding into the present, disturbing the dream that he had of the future he would share with Sherlock. He had wanted the past to be behind him, but he realized now that it wasn't, and might very well never be.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be unless they could catch Hannibal and put him behind bars, where he belonged. He would always be a black cloud over their lives and their future.

Hannibal was evil in its purest form; Will had known that for a long time, and he was sure that Sherlock did, too. The fact that Hannibal was stalking them now only proved that he was not only evil, but unbalanced and psychotic, and they had to be on their guard.

They _had_ to find a way to catch him and prove that not only was he their stalker and had tried to kill Will, but that he was the Chesapeake Ripper.

If they didn't, then they might pay for that failure with their lives.

Will shivered at the thought; he didn't want to believe that Hannibal would come after them here in London, but he knew that it was more than a possibility.

He might not have absolute proof that Hannibal had been there at their country house, shooting at him as some kind of warning, but he felt it in his gut, in his bones. He was _sure_ that Hannibal was the one who was targeting him.

And not only him, but Sherlock as well, Will told himself grimly. Anyone who was gunning for him had put that same target on Sherlock's back.

The two of them were a team. Anyone who threatened him dealt with Sherlock, too.

He didn't hear Sherlock come into the room behind him; Will jumped and let out a sharp cry when he felt arms slide around his waist, his muscles tightening in response.

"Will, it's only me," Sherlock murmured, nuzzling Will's cheek and holding him close. "I'm sorry if I startled you," his boyfriend added, sounding contrite. I didn't mean to. I woke up, and you weren't in bed. I was a bit worried about you, so I decided to investigate."

Will let himself relax, leaning back into Sherlock's embrace. "Sorry," he said softly, his voice a little shaky. "I wasn't expecting you to get up. I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't wake me," Sherlock assured him, his arms tightening slightly around Will's waist. "I was just a little worried, that's all. Can you not sleep?"

Will sighed softly, nodding and closing his eyes. It felt so good to be in Sherlock's arms; no one had ever made him feel this safe and protected before. But he knew that he couldn't simply burrow into those strong arms and ignore everything that was happening.

"I kept tossing and turning, and I figured I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep tonight," he said, his voice apologetic. "I didn't want to disturb you, so I just got up."

Sherlock smiled and brushed a kiss across his cheek.

"Why don't we both have a cup of tea and then go back to bed?" he suggested, his voice husky and soft. "I doubt that either of us can sleep at the moment."

Will smiled, nodding, thinking how well Sherlock knew him already. They hadn't been together for very long -- only a matter of a few weeks at this point -- but already, Sherlock was attuned to his moods, and knew just what he needed to relax him and calm him down.

How had he ever gotten through life before he'd met this man? That past without Sherlock seemed so long distant, like a dream viewed through a haze of fog.

The long-held loneliness had vanished, along with the past.

He would never have to feel lonely again, Will told himself, a smile on his lips. He had Sherlock in his life now, and he planned for them to stay together.

Of course, that was what all couples planned, wasn't it? Everyone thought that their relationship would last forever when it first began. Sometimes it worked out, and sometimes it didn't. But Will had every intention of _his_ relationship being one that succeeded.

Nothing was going to rip him away from Sherlock -- not Hannibal, or anything he could do. He was where he belonged, and here was where he would stay.

Yes, he wanted to go back to bed once they'd had their tea -- he was sure that as long as Sherlock held him close, he'd finally be able to go to sleep. Will just hoped that he wouldn't have any disturbing dreams; that was the last thing either of them needed to deal with.

But in Sherlock's arms, he was sure that any of those dreams would be chased away, and all he'd be able to dream of was a happy future for the two of them.

"Let's have some tea," he murmured, reaching for the teapot just as the water began to boil.

Sherlock nodded, a smile on his lips as he released Will and moved to the cupboard to take down two tea mugs. "I'm sure we'll both want to go back to bed once we've had tea, love."

Will nodded, his own lips curving in answer to Sherlock's smile. Suddenly, his worries were very far away, and a cup of tea with his boyfriend seemed like the perfect prelude to sleep.


	63. Holding Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't stop thinking about the danger that Hannibal poses to his future with Will.

Outside, the sky turned from velvety darkness pinpricked with stars, to the pearly grey of early dawn, the morning light seeping through the window to illuminate the room.

Sherlock lay in bed with his eyes open, watching dawn break outside the window.

In his arms, Will was sleeping soundly; he lay still so as not to wake his boyfriend. He wanted Will to get the rest he obviously needed.

He himself had managed to sleep for a few hours during the dead of night, which was all the rest that he needed. He'd spent the rest of the night thinking about their situation, turning everything over and over again in his mind, coming to some conclusions.

Will was right. This couldn't have been caused by anyone other than Hannibal. They both had enemies, but it all pointed to him. There was no other logical explanation.

The man was obviously angry that Will was here in London with Sherlock, that he had been taken away and had made a new, happier life for himself out of Hannibal's sphere of influence. He hadn't thought that would happen, and he wanted the tables turned.

Sherlock knew that both he and Will were in danger; Hannibal was a psychopath, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to achieve his objectives.

He didn't mind the danger for himself. He found it exhilarating.

But the last thing he wanted to do was to have Will in the line of fire -- especially when that danger came from someone whose strengths he wasn't familiar with.

He was going to keep Will safe to the best of his ability, and he wouldn't fail. He would find Hannibal and bring him to justice -- even if it meant killing the bastard. Sherlock thought that would be the best solution for everyone, not just for himself and Will.

After all, Hannibal was a danger to society at large. He was evil personified; he would continue to kill unless he was permanently stopped.

He and Will were the people best equipped to do that.

Sherlock frowned at that thought; he didn't want to put Will into the line of fire, but he _was_ the one who knew Hannibal best, and could most easily catch him.

But he would never use his boyfriend as bait, not even to catch a dangerous killer. He was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place; Will was the one who could best lure Hannibal out of hiding into the open, but it was too dangerous for him.

If anything happened to Will, he would never forgive himself. Nothing could induce him to put the man he loved into danger, to jeopardize his life and what they shared.

Just the thought of Hannibal getting his hands on Will again made Sherlock feel cold all over; he shuddered at the idea of that monster so much as touching his boyfriend.

He couldn't wrap Will in cotton wool and keep him safe from anything and everything. He knew that. But a part of him wanted to do just that, to keep Will safe from any kind of possible harm. Another part of him told him that Will would hate being treated in such a way.

Really, what he wished that he could do was keep the future at bay, put off searching for Hannibal, and just lie here with Will in his arms.

He was comfortable and relaxed. He was holding love.

The man he loved was here in his arms, and he didn't want that to change. He didn't want to even consider the possibility that things could be any different.

Hannibal could take his love away from him; he could make life a dreary, lonely wasteland again if he was allowed to get anywhere near Will. Sherlock didn't doubt that Hannibal would take Will back to Wolf Trap if he could -- or that he might even kill his love.

That thought made him shudder again; he closed his eyes, pushing that thought away, refusing to let it take on a life of its own in his mind.

Will was going to be safe here with him. He would come to no harm.

Will was his heart and soul, the most important thing in his life. Now that he had given his heart for the first time, he wasn't going to let anything take his love away.

His heart wouldn't just break if anything happened to Will. It would shatter into an unimaginable number of tiny shards, and they would never be able to fit together again. Without Will in his life, he could never be happy again, or even content.

So he would find a way to catch Hannibal, to either put him behind bars or put a permanent end to him. He would ensure that Will would be safe from that monster.

His heart would remain intact, and his love would be safe. Sherlock felt a sense of inevitability seep through him; he _would_ make sure that those plans came to fruition. Somehow, he would manage to track Hannibal down, and neutralize the danger he represented.

He would spend the rest of his life holding love in his arms every night. Nothing and no one would ever be allowed to take that away from him.

Sherlock closed his eyes, holding Will against him, close to his heart.

He would never let any harm come to his love -- or to his heart, he vowed silently. He would protect them both with everything in him, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	64. Stronger Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't want Sherlock to be caught in the middle of this war that Hannibal seems determined to start.

Will almost hummed to himself as he made his morning coffee.

In spite of the danger he knew that he and Sherlock were in, he couldn't help feeling good today. Last night had made him feel more confident more sure of himself.

Now that he had shared his fears with Sherlock, he felt closer than ever to his boyfriend. And the two of them had also shared a bed -- which not only made him feel closer to the man he was falling in love with, but also made him feel much safer.

Not that he didn't feel safe in his own bedroom, he told himself. He had Winston there with him; the dog slept beside his bed, as though he was watching over Will.

There was no reason _not_ to feel safe here in 221B. Of course, there hadn't hadn't any shots fired into the windows hee to make him feel uneasy, he thought wryly. There hadn't been any overt attacks here, as though Hannibal was being more cautious in the city.

He had been an easier target in the country house. Of course, he'd done that to himself by standing in front of the picture window in the living room.

Though at the time, he hadn't know that there was any reason not to do so.

Will sighed softly, wishing that the threat would simply go away, vanish into thin air. But, of course, that wasn't going to happen, no matter how he wished for it.

He didn't doubt that it was _was_ Hannibal trying to creep back into his life. No one else would want to victimize him; no one else would try to frighten him by shooting at him when he'd least expected it. No one else would want to get to him psychologically.

Or physically, for that matter. Yes, he'd put a lot of criminals away, but as far as he knew, all of them were still in jail, and weren't gunning for him.

But was Hannibal only coming after him -- or both of them?

He had wanted to share his life with Sherlock -- but this kind of danger wasn't something he had ever meant to expose his boyfriend to.

If anything happened to Sherlock, it would be _his_ fault. _He_ was the one who had caused all of this; _he_ was the one who'd led Sherlock into danger.

Without Will in his life, Sherlock would still be facing dangerous criminals -- but Will didn't think that anyone could be as dangerous as Hannibal. And when Hannibal was thwarted, when he didn't get what he wanted, he was more dangerous than ever.

Will didn't expect Sherlock to share that kind of danger. It wasn't fair for his boyfriend to be put on the front lines simply because he was with Will.

Sherlock didn't deserve to be in the middle of this war Hannibal wanted to start.

But, of course, he knew that Sherlock wouldn't back down. He was too involved in this now -- and he cared too much about Will to back away.

He didn't want to think along these lines, Will told himself with a soft sigh. He didn't want to consider all of the facts, at least not right now. He wanted to pretend that he and Sherlock still had time to get to know each other slowly, to let their relationship progress.

But Hannibal was rushing things ahead, bringing them closer together much more quickly, whether it was what he'd meant to do or not.

Didn't the bastard realize that all he was doing with these threats was driving Will right into Sherlock's arms -- which was apparently where Hannibal _didn't_ want him to be?

Will frowned at the thought as he poured his coffee and stirred it.

There was no telling just what Hannibal was thinking in that twisted excuse for a brain of his. But one thing was very obvious, at least to Will.

Hannibal hadn't meant to kill him with that bullet. It had been a warning shot, as though Hannibal was giving him a chance to know what lay ahead of him. If he had truly _wanted_ to kill someone, then he would more than likely have aimed for Sherlock.

After all, he would see Sherlock, and what Will shared with him, as the threat. He would want to eliminate that threat above all else.

He would think that removing Sherlock would give him access to Will again.

Of course, that wasn't true. Will had no intention of returning to Wolf Trap, or being anywhere near Hannibal Lecter again. Not in this lifetime, or any other.

But Hannibal, in his vanity and hubris, would think that Will could be easily made to come running back to the familiar if he lost the main part of his new life here in London. Hannibal would think that he'd be easily manipulated, just as he'd been before.

Hannibal was wrong, Will told himself firmly. He was a different person now. He was much stronger than he had ever been, with Sherlock by his side.

What he and Sherlock shared was something that Hannibal could never understand -- and because he didn't understand it, he would seek to destroy it. But he would never be able to accomplish that goal, Will thought. What he and Sherlock shared couldn't be broken.

Hannibal would learn that. He would discover that some bonds couldn't be severed -- and that old ones, once destroyed, couldn't be reforged.

And he would find out that the new bonds Will had developed were much stronger than any others.

Will turned as he heard Sherlock's footsteps, a smile on his face.


	65. Moments of Closeness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with all of the worries in their lives, Sherlock can still enjoy being close to Will.

"I guess there's a silver lining to Hannibal coming after me," Will said softly, blinking as he raised his head from Sherlock's shoulder.

"And what would that be, sweetheart?" Sherlock asked, his voice soft and a little hoarse. He cleared his throat with a slight cough; he always had a bit of a frog in his throat in the early morning. "I don't think there's much to be said for having a psychopath after you."

Will smiled, settling his head onto Sherlock's shoulder again, his arms tightening around his boyfriend's waist. "We're sharing a bed on a regular basis now."

Sherlock couldn't help smiling at those words.

"Well, yes, that _is_ a bit of a silver lining," he had to admit. "Though we're not 'sharing a bed' in the way that most people would use the phrase."

"We will be," Will said softly, one hand raising to thread his fingers gently through Sherlock's dark hair. "I know we will. But there's no sense in rushing the physical side of things, is there? We'll get there. It'll just take us a little more time than most people."

Again, Sherlock had to agree with his boyfriend. There was no reason for them to rush forward; this wasn't a race, and they were moving at a comfortable pace for the two of them.

With each night that he and Will spent in each other's arms, he grew more comfortable with having Will in his bed. Now that they were sleeping next to each other, it was almost inconceivable to him that they would spend a night in separate beds again.

Somehow, it would feel strange not to have Will beside him when he woke up in the morning, and to have him there when he fell into slumber at night.

Besides, he slept much better with Will in his bed.

That was indeed a silver lining to the darkness of the situation they found themselves in, Sherlock thought with a smile.

Maybe he shouldn't be so happy when they were obviously in danger, but he couldn't help it. Just being here with Will like this, sharing these moments of closeness, made him happier than he had ever been in his life. For once, he wasn't alone.

For the first time in his life, he had someone by his side, someone who loved him and wanted to be with him, someone to share his life with.

He'd always avoided that before, thinking that it would interfere with his work, feeling that emotions had no place in his life and that alone was the best way to be.

Will had shown him that wasn't so. Yes, alone could be a good thing at times, but it wasn't how he wanted to live the rest of his life. He wanted to love and be loved, to share himself with someone else, to know what it was like to give his heart and soul.

Now that he'd found that sort of love, he never wanted to give it up -- and he'd be damned if he would let anyone take it away from him.

Try as he might, Hannibal Lecter wasn't going to come between them.

Sherlock scowled at the mere thought of that; Lecter was obviously trying to drive a wedge between himself and Will, to bring fear into their relationship.

But that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to let that hideous monster have any kind of an adverse effect on what he shared with Will; he had managed to take Will away from the immediate sphere of that bastard's influence, and keep him safe.

He would continue to do so, Sherlock vowed. No matter what happened, he wasn't going to let Hannibal get to Will. He would protect his boyfriend at all costs.

Even that was something of a silver lining, if he really thought about it. Instead of ripping them apart as he was apparently trying to do, Hannibal's pursuit of Will was only bringing them closer together, making them depend on each other all the more.

That definitely hadn't been what Lecter had in mind, Sherlock thought with satisfaction. And he would more than likely be angry about it, as well as resentful.

He didn't care what Hannibal felt. Hannibal's wishes weren't his concern.

All that mattered was that he and Will came out of this safely, and that they found a way to put Hannibal behind bars. That was foremost in his mind.

The silver linings to all of this were something that he could look at later -- though, Sherlock told himself with an inward smile, he was certainly capable of fully appreciating them as they went along. He hoped that more of them would come their way.

And the silver lining that he was experiencing now was most definitely one that he meant to take advantage of, he thought as he pulled Will closer against him.


	66. Momentary Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance sighting on the street makes Sherlock wonder if he and Will are truly in danger, or if he's imagining things that aren't really there.

Sherlock frowned as he ambled slowly down the street, the plastic carrier holding two cups of coffee held in one hand.

There hadn't been any more threats, open or covert, made on Will's life since they'd arrived back in London. But he didn't try to delude himself; Hannibal was simply biding his time, waiting for them to let their guards down.

He wasn't going to just fade away, not now that he had made one attempt on Will. It would happen again; Sherlock was sure of it.

Hannibal wasn't the kind of man to give up easily.

If he was, then he wouldn't have worked so assiduously to frame Will for the crimes he himself had committed -- and he wouldn't have looked at Sherlock with such hatred in his eyes in the one instance when they'd met.

That look in Hannibal's eyes had sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine, and he still didn't like to think of it and what it could mean for Will.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal looked at Will's decision to move to London as some sort of betrayal, and that he would attempt to exact revenge for it. That thought had been in his mind all along, ever since they'd come here.

But he had wanted to get Will out of Wolf Trap, to feel that he was safely out of any sort of immediate danger.

Sherlock sighed softly, admitting to himself that taking away from the area of Hannibal's direct sphere of influence might not have helped as much as he'd thought it would. He had only made it a bit more difficult for Hannibal to get to Will.

Obviously, the bastard had no problem following them to London.

Even though he hadn't seen Hannibal's face in London, even though they hadn't run into each other, Sherlock was sure that he was here.

Hannibal obviously wanted Will, considered the young man to be his. And with someone whose personality obviously ran to the psychotic, a belief like that could be fatal for the person they set their sights upon.

Sherlock had experience in that sphere; he'd dealt with Moriarty. He knew what it was like to be the target of a psychopath's obsession.

He didn't want Will to be that kind of a target.

Hannibal terrified him in some ways; he'd never had to deal with anyone like this before. But at the same time, the situation was a challenge.

The horrible thing about it was that Will was caught in the middle, and that was the part of all this that made Sherlock the most apprehensive.

He had to protect Will, keep him safe. Even though his boyfriend was a former FBI agent and knew how to take care of himself in dangerous situations, Sherlock still felt that it was his duty to ensure the safety of the man he loved.

But how was he to do that, when he had no idea just where Hannibal might be, how and when he might decide to strike next?

That was what worried him most -- that Hannibal would strike out at Will again, this time with more deadly force, when Will was most vulnerable.

The thought made him shudder; the very idea of Will being harmed made him feel as if ice water was rushing through his veins rather than warm blood. Will being hurt in any way was _not_ an option. He wouldn't let it happen.

As he turned the corner to head towards Baker Street, Sherlock scanned the faces of the people in the crowd -- then blinked.

Once, then twice. He shook his head, hardly believing what he _thought_ he was seeing. Could it possibly be a mistake? Was this real?

He was sure that he'd seen Hannibal Lecter in the crowd.

 _No_ , he told himself, turning around and scanning the backs of the people walking in the other direction. He couldn't have seen Hannibal. He was wrong.

He began to make his way in the opposite direction, pushing past people, then quickly running across the street to the other side. He _had_ to catch up with that rapidly retreating figure, _had_ to know if it was Hannibal.

The coffee carrier fell from his nerveless fingers as he pushed through the crowd, his gaze frantically searching for the man he thought he'd seen.

Dodging through the crowd, he tried to keep up with the man's pace.

One step .... then another .... then he could finally turn the man around with a hand on his shoulder and look into his face. He was sure that he would see those malevolent dark depths, see the hatred for him welling in them.

But instead, he was looking into the face of a complete stranger, a man he had never seen before. It wasn't Hannibal.

Sherlock mumbled an apology, snatching his hand away from the man's shoulder as if he'd been burned. He felt disoriented, dazed; he had been so sure that the face he had seen in the crowd _was_ Hannibal.

Had he been wrong? Had he been thinking about the other man to the point where he'd seen something that wasn't there, merely a momentary illusion?

Or had he actually seen Hannibal walking down the street, and the other man had been aware of his scrutiny and had cleverly avoided him? He had no way of knowing; if that had indeed been Hannibal, he was long gone now.

Sherlock turned back towards Baker Street, feeling frustrated.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he trudged along, unsure of just what he should do, finally making a decision as he approached the café.

He would go by the café to replace the coffees he'd dropped; then head home to Will. He wasn't sure yet if he would tell his boyfriend what he thought he'd seen; there was no need to upset Will with suppositions.

And if it turned out that he _hadn't_ seen Hannibal, then it was better to keep that mistake to himself.

Sherlock sighed softly, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to bring that face in the crowd back into his mind. _Had_ it been Hannibal? Or was his mind just conjuring up images of what he thought he should see?

He genuinely hoped that it was the latter.


	67. Protecting Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is shaken to discover that Sherlock has attempted to confront Hannibal on his own.

"What do you mean, you saw Hannibal today?"

Will felt as though his entire body was paralyzed; for a few moments, he couldn't move, could barely breathe. His mind seemed to be swirling with a million questions at once, all fighting to be verbalized.

How had Sherlock seen Hannibal? Had that bastard been anywhere near his love? Had Hannibal threatened him? What was he doing here in London?

Of course, Sherlock couldn't know the answer to that last question. But Will didn't doubt that Hannibal would have followed them here; he was tenacious enough to keep going after what he wanted until he had achieved his objective.

He obviously wanted Will, and he wasn't going to back down until he had his intended prey back within his grasp.

The thought made Will shudder; he didn't want to be anywhere near Hannibal again. He had always thought there would be another, final confrontation -- but he wasn't ready to deal with it yet. He was still preparing himself for that moment.

It was a moment that he didn't look forward to.

Will was immensely relieved that Sherlock hadn't caught up to Hannibal on the street today; the last thing he wanted was for his boyfriend to confront Hannibal alone, even if there were other people around.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal might have carried a knife, or a syringe full of some deadly substance that he could have easily dispatched Sherlock with.

He pushed that thought away as rapidly as it had occurred to him; he didn't want to even think of the possibility of Hannibal killing Sherlock. It wasn't going to happen, Will told himself firmly. He wouldn't allow it.

They would catch the monster long before he had a chance to come after either of them in such a way. And they would protect each other.

But today, he hadn't been there with Sherlock to protect him. A wave of guilt swept over him, the feeling that he should have been with his boyfriend to watch Sherlock's back and be sure that he was safe swamping his senses.

"I might have been mistaken. But I don't think so."

Sherlock was shaking his head, his face grim, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was obviously shaken by what he'd seen.

Will made himself speak, even though his voice was still strained. "I don't think you were, either. I'm pretty sure he would have followed us here."

"I don't doubt that it was Hannibal who tried to shoot you when we were in the country." Anger reverberated in Sherlock's voice; Will could tell that it was hard for him to get the words out. "No one else would go after you like that."

Will nodded, reluctant to admit that he could be in danger. He hated the thought, but he had to face it. There was no other choice.

"You're in just as much danger as I am," he said softy, his voice shaking slightly. "He's going to focus on you as the person who 'took me away from him.'"

Sherlock nodded, looking somber. "Yes, I realise that," he said, his voice soft, his gaze studying Will's pale features. He reached out to take his boyfriend's hand, those long fingers twining with Will's. "He's a malevolent man."

Will swallowed hard, wishing that there was some way they could run and hide, a way to be safe from Hannibal forever. But that wasn't how things were.

They would have to confront him at some point. It horrified him to think that Sherlock had almost done that today, alone and unprotected.

 _If_ that man on the street had indeed been Hannibal.

No, there was no doubt of that. Will was sure that Sherlock wouldn't have made that big of a mistake; it was just fortunate that when he had plunged through the crowded street after Hannibal, he hadn't been able to catch him.

Or maybe, from another point of view, it was _un_ fortunate. It might have been better for Sherlock to get to him and confront him on the spot.

Still, Will was glad that hadn't happened. When they _did_ confront Hannibal, he wanted it to be as a team, the two of them together, standing strong against any adversity that Hannibal could throw at them.

He wanted to show Hannibal once and for all that he was free of his influence, that he was his own man, and that he had made his choice.

That choice was Sherlock. The man he loved, the only person he ever wanted to be with. He would never regret choosing to be with Sherlock, and he would never change his mind. Hannibal had to know that, once and for all.

If he didn't want to accept that fact, then that was his problem.

"Not to worry, Will," Sherlock said with what was obviously a note of forced cheerfulness in his tone. "We'll catch him. He isn't going to stand a chance against the two of us, not when we're working as a team."

Will swallowed and nodded, hoping that what Sherlock said was true. He wanted to think positively, wanted to believe that they could capture Hannibal.

That monster had to be put behind bars for good, not only for their safety, but for the well-being of the world in general. If they didn't catch him, then he could go on to harm even more people. No one was safe while he was free.

Least of all himself and Sherlock, Will thought as a shiver ran down his spine. They would be Hannibal's primary target.

They would have to do all they could to keep themselves safe, he told himself, returning the gentle pressure of Sherlock's hand in his own. But something told him that Hannibal would strike when they were least prepared to face him.

All they could do was try to be ready when their nemesis attacked.


	68. Intimate Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will decides that it's time to push the envelope on his physical intimacy with Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at Will on the couch, his hands on his hips, a smile hovering around the corners of his lips.

"I don't want us to think about Hannibal today," Sherlock said firmly, shaking his head.

Will nodded reluctantly, wonder what his boyfriend had in mind. He knew that Sherlock was up to something; he could tell by the sparkle in those pale eyes.

"So what do you propose that we do?" Will asked, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. Whatever Sherlock was up to, he didn't want to be kept in suspense for long.

"I want to spend the day with you," Sherlock told him, sitting down on the couch next to Will and taking his hand, bringing it to his lips, and kissing Will's fingertips. "I want us to spend the day taking each other in." He stopped speaking for a moment, a pink flush spreading over his pale cheeks. "Touching each other."

"Just touching?" Now Will was intrigued; he couldn't help smiling at Sherlock's blush. "No kissing? No anything else? Just the two of us touching each other?" 

Sherlock laughed, shaking his head. "Of course there will be kissing. I don't think that I could keep myself from kissing you, Will. You have --" His fingers tips gently traced the outline of Will's mouth -- "... such very kissable lips."

To prove his point, he bowed his head, capturing Will's lips with his own.

Will let himself melt into that kiss, closing his eyes and winding his arms around Sherlock's neck to pull him closer. Oh yes, he didn't mind spending the day like this at all.'

After what seemed like a very long time to Will, the two of them finally came up for air; Will couldn't help laughing softly at the look of triumph in Sherlock's eyes. If his boyfriend was trying to keep him from thinking about Hannibal and the situation they were in, then he was doing a _very_ good job of it.

"How was that?" Sherlock asked, his voice very soft, almost tentative. Will looked at him in surprise, finding it hard to believe that Sherlock didn't know how he felt.

But then, neither of them had much experience in this area, did they?

It was still hard for him to believe that someone as gorgeous as Sherlock was had never been in a relationship before, that he had never let anyone touch him intimately.

Of course, he himself had never been involved with anyone, either, Will mused. And other than a little fooling around in college, it wasn't as though he had much more experience than Sherlock at being intimate with anyone. But he'd read enough to know what it would be like, and he hungered for that intimacy.

He'd never wanted it with anyone before, but with Sherlock, he couldn't get enough of the touching and kissing. And he wanted more -- much, much more.

And he would have more, in time. Will didn't doubt that. He was just getting tired of waiting for it. After all, he and Sherlock had been together for a while now, and yet, they seemed stuck in place.

They hadn't moved beyond the kissing and touching part -- and even that was slow and tentative. He was ready to move ahead, but he hadn't wanted to rush Sherlock into anything. Now, he couldn't help feeling that he should push the envelope a bit, and perhaps help Sherlock move ahead with things.

If his boyfriend wasn't ready, then he would keep a lid on his impatience, of course. But he was sure that Sherlock _was_ ready for more, and that what they were doing was proof of that.

Well, there was really only one way to find out.

Will moved his hands slowly down Sherlock's sides, finally letting his palms rest on the other man's narrow hips. He could feel his boyfriend's heartbeat speed up, hear his breathing become rougher.

Yes, Sherlock was enjoying this touching as much as he was; he couldn't doubt that, not when those long-fingered, elegant hands moved up and down his arms, then down his sides to mirror what he had done to Sherlock. And those weren't the only telltale signs that Sherlock was aroused.

He could feel the other man's erection pressed against his thigh; he could sense the tension in Sherlock's muscles. His own body reflected that tension; they were both wound as tightly as coiled springs.

Will wanted to bring that tension to its peak, then release it.

How much intimate touching would it take to bring them both to the peak of ecstasy? He didn't know, but he wanted to find out. He wanted to move their relationship into uncharted waters.

It was past time for them to do that, Will told himself firmly. They were comfortable with each other now; there was no reason for them to keep holding back out of fear or uncertainty.

He didn't doubt that Sherlock wanted him just as much as he wanted Sherlock. They might not be ready to make love yet, but Will was sure that they were both eager to move ahead. They had just been holding themselves back out of deference to each other, without really talking about what they wanted.

Well, it was time for them both to toss their timidity aside and go for what they wanted. He had the feeling that they would both be a lot happier, not to mention more satisfied, once they did that.

Raising one hand, he stoked gentle fingertips down Sherlock's cheek, gazing into his boyfriend's eyes. "Should we take this into the bedroom?" he whispered, his voice soft and throaty.

Sherlock nodded, his gaze locking with Will's, love and desire written on their faces.

The two of them got to their feet, and walked towards the bedroom hand in hand.


	69. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that this night will take his relationship with Sherlock down a new path.

Will was trembling as he and Sherlock walked into the bedroom, his mind whirling.

What was going to happen between them tonight? The possibilities seemed endless.

They were going to be together in some way, he knew that. What he _didn't_ know was just how far this would go. He had no idea what boundaries they might cross.

He knew that he wasn't ready for them to give themselves to each other completely, and he didn't think that Sherlock was, either. As much as he loved his boyfriend, that wasn't in the cards for tonight. It wasn't the right time for either of them, but they had plenty of time for that.

Still, he knew that they both craved more, that they were both ready to take a step forward in their relationship. They'd reached a crossroads, and it was time to take a new path.

He wanted Sherlock to touch him, to explore his body, to discover him in the physical sense -- and he wanted to do the same with the man he loved. It was time for them both to reach out, to explore, to discover things about each other that they might not have imagined existed.

But a part of him hung back, afraid to give himself over to that exploration, afraid that when his body was bared to his boyfriend's eyes that Sherlock wouldn't like what he saw.

Will took a deep breath. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Slowly, he began to undress, starting with the top button of his shirt. His fingers were clumsy, as though they didn't want to move, didn't want to reveal his body to his boyfriend.

He forced those fingers to keep moving, to get to the last button and pull his shirt off. He didn't look at Sherlock's face; he couldn't bring himself to even glance up to see the expression that would be on those handsome features. He was afraid that Sherlock would look at him in horror.

He knew that there were scars on his body, scars that he hated. He'd gotten them from his years of being a cop, and some of them from his time in the FBI working for Jack.

None of them were horrible, but he felt that each one stood out in stark relief.

They were a part of him, embedded on his body as well as his soul, impossible to erase. And he was fairly certain that Sherlock wouldn't like seeing them, that they made him unattractive.

With trembling hands, he began to undo the buckle on his belt; he might as well get this over with as quickly as he could, and let Sherlock see the worst. There were no horrendous scars on the bottom half of his body, but he had no idea what Sherlock would think of him when Will revealed all of himself.

His body had never been something that he'd shared with others; no one else had ever seen him completely naked. He had never wanted anyone to view his bare body.

But now, for some reason, it was important to let Sherlock see him, to know exactly what he was getting. He wanted the man he loved to be able to make a choice, here and now.

Would Sherlock want him once his body was revealed, or would he decide that Will wasn't all that he'd hoped he would be? A part of him knew that Sherlock wasn't the kind of man to judge by appearances, but it was something that he had worried about since they had first come together.

Was he going to be good enough for this man? Or would he be summarily rejected, found wanting? He hoped not; with every fiber of his being, he wanted Sherlock to accept him as he was.

He wanted this man to embrace him completely, faults, scars, and all.

There. The button on his fly was undone; he pulled down the zipper, then let his jeans and boxers fall to floor, leaving him bared to Sherlock's faze as he stepped forward.

He heard a sharp gasp, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. What if Sherlock hated what he saw? What if he thought that the scars on Will's body, some on his chest, a few on his arms, and one across his left side where a bullet had grazed him, were horribly ugly?

He didn't want to look up, didn't want to see an expression on revulsion on Sherlock's face. If he _did_ see that, then he knew that all of his hopes for the future would crumble into dust.

Holding his breath, Will raised his gaze to look at his boyfriend.

All he could see on Sherlock's handsome face was an expression of wonder as his gaze traveled over Will's body; he looked as though he was dazed by what he saw.

"You," Sherlock said, his voice very soft, barely above a whisper, "are a beautiful work of art, Will Graham. You are the most lovely sight I have ever laid eyes on."

All of Will's fears melted away as soon as heard those words. Sherlock didn't find the scars on his body repulsive; he wasn't put off by what he saw. This had been the right thing to do -- and now that he had bared his body to Sherlock, he wanted his boyfriend to do the same.

"It's your turn," he whispered, holding out his arms to his love. "I want to see you just as you're seeing me, Sherlock. I want to start learning everything about your body."

"Your wish is my command," Sherlock told him, his voice soft and husky with emotion. As Will watching, he began to remove his clothes, their gazes locking and holding.

Will's breath hitched in his throat. In just seconds, they would both be naked.

Once they were, anything could happen between the two of them.


	70. Tremble For My Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is shocked to discover just how much he physically desires Will.

He couldn't recall ever trembling this violently before in his life. He had never been this nervous, this agitated, this completely off-balance.

Sherlock's hands trembled as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

Why should he be shaking now? He had made up his mind that this was what he wanted, that it was past time for his relationship with Will to move forward.

He shouldn't be nervous about this. He and Will wanted each other, and this was the first step towards having what they wanted. But it was hard to take that step.

He had never been naked in front of anyone before, and he didn't know just how Will was going to react to seeing him nude for the first time. That was quite enough to make anyone nervous, wasn't it? Baring his body to someone for the first time had to be a nerve-wracking experience.

But there was no reason for him to be nervous, he told himself firmly. This was Will he was baring himself to. Will, the man he loved, the man he wanted to spend his life with.

Will was standing here in front of him, naked and exposed, and he didn't seem nervous at all -- though Sherlock was sure that inside, his boyfriend was trembling just as he was.

He was a grown man, for heaven's sake. He shouldn't be so nervous about this.

"Sherlock, you're shaking." Will's voice brought him out of his thoughts and into the present; he raised his head to gaze into the infinite blueness of his boyfriend's eyes.

"I'm nervous, Will," he managed to murmur, even as his fingers fumbled with the next button. "I've never been naked in front of anyone before. It's .... a bit disconcerting, that's all." He rushed on hastily, not wanting Will to have the wrong idea about this. "But I want to be. I want you to see me."

Was that entirely true? he asked himself. His body was scarred; not horribly, but there were marks that he looked away from whenever he took a bath or a shower.

Would Will accept those marks as being a part of him?

Of course he would. Will wasn't the kind of man to turn away from someone he loved simply they weren't a physically perfect specimen. He was better than that.

And Will loved him, Sherlock thought, a rush of warmth overtaking his body. Will loved him regardless of how he looked, in spite of the fact that he was a virgin and had never been involved with anyone before, either emotionally or in the physical sense. That love wasn't going to be withdrawn.

They would never back away from each other. Not now that they'd come this far.

This was simply the next step in their relationship -- seeing each other unclothed, then moving forward physically. That might not happen tonight, but they were on their way.

"Let me do that." Will stepped closer to him, his hands gently pushing Sherlock's out of the way as he took over with undoing the buttons, quickly and deftly.

This was it. Within just a few moments, he would be naked next to Will, with no barriers between them.

Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling a pink flush rise to his cheeks as Will pushed his shirt over his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor with a shrug. Then Will was working at the buckle of his belt, unzipping his trousers, and letting them slide down his legs to pool around his ankles.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock stepped out of the fabric, moving closer to Will, his eyes widening and a gasp coming from his throat when their erections rubbed against each other.

His eyes opened even wider when Will reached down a hand to touch his cock.

No one had ever touched him there before, and he hadn't expected it. His body reacted instantly, his cock hardening even further, a jolt of pleasure going through him.

'I want you to touch me, too," Will whispered as his fingers gently stroked down Sherlock's shaft. "Please, Sherlock. I've wanted to feel your hands on me since .... well, since we first met. Kissing and cuddling with our clothes on isn't enough eny more. I want more than that. I _need_ more."

So did he, Sherlock realized with a shock. He wanted and needed so much more than what they'd already had. No wonde rhe was trembling -- with need and desire.

He would continue to tremble for his beloved every time they touched.

He reached out to wrap his fingers around Will's cock, almost shocked at how hard his boyfriend was. He should have realized that, he thought dazedly.

If he desired Will, then of course he would be desired in return. He knew how mens' bodies worked; just because he had never been with anyone didn't mean that he was entirely innocent.

Will wanted him, and he wanted Will. That was the basic truth of it. There was no reason why their relationship couldn't be consummated here, tonight -- though he wasn't entirely sure that would happen. He didn't think that either of them were ready to take that leap yet.

But for the moment, they were touching each other, beginning to discover one another's bodies -- and it was the most pleasurable sensation he'd ever felt in his life.

Sherlock didn't know how they made it to the bed, but it seemed that they suddenly fell onto it in a tangle of limbs, their hands and mouths touching, tasting, exploring.

He gave himself over to the pure pleasure of those sensations, and let his mind take over.

Will's hands were on his body, just as his own hands roved over Will's flesh. He pulled the other man closer, rolling over on top of him, desperate to feel that slender body close against his own.


	71. First Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has never known any sensations so intense as this initial awakening of his body under Sherlock's hands.

This was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Will had known that he would want Sherlock's touch more than he'd ever wanted anything, but the ferocity of his physical reactions took him by surprise.

He was sure that if Sherlock kept touching him, he was going to explode in an orgasm so strong that he wouldn't be able to recover from it for the next few hours.

Somehow, he had to hold himself back, had to make sure that he didn't disgrace himself by coming as soon as his lover's hand was on his cock again. The last thing he wanted to do was to have this end before it had to; he wanted to make it last for as long as possible.

If he could feel like this when Sherlock was simply touching and kissing him, how would he feel when they finally made love? That would be the most intense sensation he could possibly feel.

But for the moment, he didn't want to think about making love. He didn't want to think about anything but the awakening of his own body under Sherlock's hands and mouth.

Every inch of his skin seemed to tingle where Sherlock touched him. His body almost _ached_ for that touch; he was arching upwards into it, begging for more.

His own hands were rushing over his lover's body, touching and feeling.

How could anyone have such soft skin? His fingers moved down Sherlock's sides, finally resting on his hips, almost afraid to move to the juncture between his legs.

When he finally did, the physical sensation of wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's rigid cock seemed to make his own harden even more. Slowly, gently, he clasped the other man's flesh, moving his fingers up and down the shaft, gradually working up to a faster rhythm.

Was Sherlock's body feeling as alive and awakened as his own was? Was this how it was supposed to feel? Did all people feel this overwhelmed by sensation the first time they touched their lovers?

He was not only touching, but _being_ touched.

Sherlock's hand was doing the same to him as his own was doing to his lover. Will's breath came faster, in ragged gasps, his heart speeding up to an impossible rate.

It hardly seemed possible that the two of them had finally broken down the barriers between them and were allowing themselves to touch each other like this.

Being touched by Sherlock was even more sensual than Will had thought it would be. He could feel every caress, every movement, and he was sure that each thing his boyfriend did to him would be etched crystal-clear on his memory, that he would never forget a single moment of this wondrous night.

His own hands were moving over Sherlock's body again; he wanted to savor every touch, every sensation, to know all of the man who was lying beside him.

But it didn't take long for one hand to find its way to Sherlock's cock again; to stroke him until he could feel the other man writhing in pleasure, Will's name on his lips.

Hearing Sherlock moaning his name, combined with those soft hands on his body and then on his cock again, to send Will careening over the edge of that precipice of pleasure he was so precariously balanced on. It took an effort to hold himself back, to remind himself that he wanted this to last.

How could it possibly last, when all he wanted to do was abandon himself to these incredible sensations, let himself sink into them and never come up for air?

Will's hand moved up again to tangle in Sherlock's hair; he pulled his boyfriend to him for a kiss that felt as though it seared him to the depths of his soul.

Kissing, touching, _feeling_. His body had never been so alive.

His senses had never been this receptive to anything before; he was a live wire, a stick of dynamite just waiting to have a spark touched to him for his body to explode.

Will could picture that happening; he could see himself and Sherlock as a shower of sparks flying through the air, the both of them zooming towards the heavens, touching the moon and stars before slowly floating back down to earth, sated and spent, locked in each other's arms.

And if it was like this when they were only touching each other, then making love with this man was going to be the most stupendous experience of his entire life.

Sherlock's hand moved on his cock -- and Will finally let himself go.

His orgasm was even more incredible than Will had thought it would be, taking him to the stars and beyond, Sherlock clasped in his arms as he flew.

He was holding his love against him, feeling Sherlock's heart beat next to his own. They flew together, ever upwards, to touch the stars.

He didn't even hear himself crying out his boyfriend's name, didn't realize that Sherlock had reached the peak as well. The sensations took him over completely.

Nothing had ever felt so intense; he had never dreamed that any physical sensation could so take over his body and mind. All he could do was lie there in Sherlock's arms, gasping, his head reeling, almost afraid to open his eyes to know that he had come back from the clouds.

When he finally opened his eyes to look at Sherlock, his lover was smiling at him with a light in his pale eyes that Will could only describe as a look of pure love.

And when their lips met, it was with a promise of more to come, a promise for a future that had begun here, tonight, with this initial first awakening of their bodies to each other.

It was a promise between them that Will knew would always be kept.


	72. Journey of Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discovering love has been a revelation for Sherlock.

Sherlock awakened slowly, squinting as he opened his eyes.

It felt wonderful to lie here with Will in his arms, their bodies spooning together, his arms around his boyfriend's waist, his face buried in Will's soft dark curls.

Sherlock closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling completely sated and happy. He couldn't recall ever waking up with such a feeling of optimism in his heart.

It was all due to Will, and their discovery of each other's bodies last night, he told himself, smiling as he nuzzled his cheek against the other man's bare shoulder. Last night had been the most incredible night of his life; so many barriers had been broken down, so many insecurities obliterated.

Sherlock knew that he would never again be nervous about being naked in front of Will; he had seen the admiration and desire in the younger man's eyes.

He knew that Will desired and loved him; he would carry that knowledge in his heart for the rest of his life. It would warm him, bolster him, give him confidence when he needed it.

Just knowing that Will loved him made his heart soar.

Will not only loved him, but trusted him, as well. He had known that from the moment that the other man had taken his hand and led him into their bedroom.

He trusted Will, as well. He trusted this man with everything that he was and ever would be, with his body, his heart, his soul, his very life. Yes, he had been nervous about turning over that trust when they had been disrobing in front of each other last night, but that hadn't lasted long.

He had known that this was what he wanted to do, what he _needed_ to do. He'd known that it was the right thing for them, the next step.

It had been a step that he'd been glad to take.

Will was everything he had ever wanted or needed, all rolled into one wonderful man. Sherlock only hoped that he was the same for Will.

Knowing that Will loved him and wanted him had opened up his world, had made him feel that he could do anything. It was amazing how being in love could transform him.

How was it possible to love someone so much, when for most of his life, he had thought that love wasn't something he would ever need? He had been so wrong about that. Love didn't make him weak, not at all. It strengthened him, gave him confidence and hope for the future.

He no longer had to look at the world as being a dark and lonely place, not with Will by his side. He was no longer alone, no longer always on the outside looking in.

He'd never have to feel as though he was always turned away, as though he didn't fit in. Now he had someone who loved him, someone who wanted to be with him.

Love had always seemed as though it was meant for other people, never for him. He'd often wondered just how it felt to fall in love, and if it was a feeling that he would even _want_ to experience. Now that he knew what it was like, he almost wished that he had discovered it sooner.

But no, Sherlock told himself. If he _had_ discovered love sooner than he had, then it wouldn't have been his wonderful Will who he'd fallen for.

If he had met someone else and discovered love sooner, he wouldn't even have met Will. And he probably never would have known what _real_ love was.

He was sure that he could never love anyone else in the way that he loved Will. It simply wasn't possible to feel this much for another person.

And if anything about his meeting with Will had been different, they might never have discovered that they harbored these feeling for each other, and never acted on them.

Not having Will in his life would be a tragedy of monumental proportions.

Discovering love had been a revelation for him, and he was sure that it had been the same for Will. But discovering each other's bodies was something he hadn't planned on.

Well, he'd known that it was going to happen sometime -- he just hadn't thought that it would be so soon. Though it really wasn't, was it? Sherlock asked himself. They'd been together for a few months now, and they slept in the same bed. This had been a long time in coming.

Now that it had happened, he knew that they would never turn back. He wanted them to only move forward from here, to discover even more about each other.

Even now, his hands were starting to move over Will's body.

It was _exciting_ to be lying here naked next to the man he loved, to know that they could explore each other's bodies as much as they chose to.

He wanted to feel Will's soft hands on his skin, wanted to experience the wonder of being touched, even as he touched Will and discovered more of his body in the daylight.

Will stirred and murmured something as Sherlock's hand moved down his side; Sherlock couldn't keep himself from smiling delightedly when he heard the words. Will was whispering his name, and pushing his hips back against Sherlock as though he was waiting for .... something.

Oh, he knew what Will wanted -- and he wanted it as well. But he knew that it wasn't quite time for that yet, that it would come sometime in the future.

When it did, it would be another wonderful journey of discovery, one that he would make with the man he loved, one that he would enjoy to the fullest in every way.

Sherlock could hardly wait for that time to arrive.


	73. Beautiful Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakening in Sherlock's embrace, Will knows that the events of the night before have brought them much closer, emotionally as well as physically.

He had never awakened in an embrace like this before, but he was finding it one of the most pleasant ways that he'd ever started a morning.

Will lay in bed with Sherlock behind him, not wanting to open his eyes.

If he did, he was sure that this wonderful dream he found himself in would disappear; he wanted it to last as long as it possibly could without fading away.

Was he really here, in Sherlock's bed, in his arms, locked in his embrace? Was he dreaming, or was this wonderfully real? And if it _was_ real, would it happen again?

Of course it would, he told himself firmly. They had made love last night, and it had been wonderful. It might not have been the most intimate way they could have been together, but it had been the most incredible experience he'd ever had, and he wanted it to be repeated.

They'd broken the ice now, he reflected. They might still be shy about doing some things, but he was sure that they'd quickly get past that.

He loved this man. He'd known that for a while, but last night had proven that he had immense trust in Sherlock, that he would surrender himself to the man he loved.

Last night had been more than just his first time being intimate with anyone.

He had given Sherlock not only his body, but his entire heart and soul. He had relinquished the reins of control -- and he had enjoyed every moment of doing so.

Trust like that had to be earned, and he had never let anyone get that close to him before. But now that he had, there were no regrets. There was only a feeling of _rightness_ , of knowing that he had done the right thing. And waking here, in Sherlock's embrace, proved that to him.

Slowly, carefully, he turned over, wondering if Sherlock was still asleep. When Will opened his eyes, he was almost shocked to find his lover's eyes open.

Sherlock was smiling at him with a look of love suffusing his face.

Will was sure that he could feel his heart melting in his chest as he snuggled closer into Sherlock's embrace, hiding his face against his lover's shoulder.

For some reason, he couldn't face Sherlock at the moment. Maybe the memories of last night were still too fresh; he wasn't sure why. But he needed a moment before their gazes met.

"Good morning." Sherlock's deep voice sent a thrill down his spine; he loved hearing his boyfriend say anything, but those two words felt like the most intimate speech possible at the moment. The voice was slightly husky, as if Sherlock had only just awakened when Will had.

He felt a hand stroking his hair, then moving down his back. He almost wanted to moan at the sensation; somehow, this touch felt almost as intimate as what they'd done last night.

His own arms were wrapping around Sherlock's waist, moving their bodies closer together until they were pressed chest to chest against each other, his legs entangled with the other man's.

Oh, he loved this. He loved being close to Sherlock, being wrapped in such an intimate embrace, feeling his lover's heart beat against his own. Was it his imagination, or were their heart rates accelerating in tandem, both of them aroused by being so close?

His body was tingling from the heat of Sherlock's touch; Will knew that it wasn't only his heart speeding up, but all of his being that was responding to the feel of those hands on his skin.

No, he wasn't imagining it. His own heart was speeding up, thumping in his chest. He could feel it, just as he could feel Sherlock's heart beating in rhythm with his own.

Their hearts were in sync. Just more proof that they belonged together.

"Good morning," Will answered, surprised to realize that his voice was just as husky as Sherlock's. He cleared his throat, then spoke again. "I don't think I'm ready to get up yet."

"Neither am I," Sherlock said with a soft laugh. The sound of that laughter made another thrill tingle through Will's body; no other laugh sounded that sexy, that full of promise. "I could lie here all day with you in my arms, love. I feel as though I've woken up in an entirely new world."

"Maybe we have," Will said softly, his tone serious. "I think everything changed for us last night, Sherlock. I think things have gotten a lot more serious now."

His gaze locked with his lover's, searching the depths of those eyes.

"I think things were already serious when you agreed to move here," Sherlock told him, raising a hand to stroke Will's dark curls back from his face. "But yes, last night changed things."

"For the better, I hope," Will murmured, his heart in his throat. He didn't know what he expected Sherlock to say, but he knew that he wanted to hear an affirmation.

"Most definitely for the better," Sherlock said, his voice very soft. "Last night was beautiful, Will. It was .... a revelation. I don't believe that I truly believed in the power of love before I touched you. Now, I know that I've been wrong in rejecting love. It's the most powerful force in the universe."

Will could only nod at those words before burying his face against Sherlock's shoulder again, holding onto him tightly, clinging to him in a fierce embrace.

Sherlock was right. Love was the most powerful force there was, and now that he'd found it, he was never going to let it go. He was going to cherish it for all of his life.

This love was everything to him, and always would be.

When he raised his head again to look into Sherlock's eyes, he could tell that his lover felt the same. And when their lips met, he had no doubt that this love would last forever.


	74. Like the Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times when Will feels that his life before Sherlock was like a movie being directed by someone with evil intentions.

Everything that had happened seemed like a movie to Will.

There were times when he thought he could simply sit back and watch it all play out, as though he was seeing someone else's life unfold on a big screen in a darkened theater.

His relationship with Sherlock had moved forward in little increments, like a story playing out on a film projector. It almost didn't seem real, the way they had come together.

But it _was_ real, and it was the most important thing in his life. More and more lately, he was feeling as though his previous life in Wolf Trap had been the unreal part of his existence, and now that he was with Sherlock, his real life was starting to finally come into focus.

All that had taken place in the past was starting to fade away, to seem as though it had been a life lived by another person, not himself. A life that hadn't been quite rooted in reality.

How could it have been real? Was there really enough evil in Hannibal to have framed him for murders he didn't commit, to have sent him to prison and made him have to fight for his life?

Of course there was. Evil lurked everywhere in the world.

Even behind a face and an attitude as benign as Hannibal's, evil could fester. He'd certainly found that out, to his great detriment. But he'd been lucky enough to escape the clutches of that evil.

Thanks to Sherlock, he was safely away from the reach of Hannibal's revenge. Though he didn't doubt that the shots aimed at him when they'd been in the country had come directly from Hannibal or from someone Hannibal had hired, he was safer than he would have been if he'd stayed in Wolf Trap.

Now what they had to do was bring the movie into focus, to find out just what Hannibal intended to do -- and to stop him before he could carry out whatever plans he might have.

Together, they would be able to stop Hannibal in his tracks. Whatever evil he had planned, Will was confident that he and Sherlock could put an end to it.

If he was still in Wolf Trap, still alone, he would feel like the heroine who was tied to the railroad tracks in an old silent film, screaming and waiting for the train to arrive. He wouldn't have had a chance if he'd stayed there, and he knew it. He would have been at Hannibal's mercy.

But now, he had Sherlock in his life, and he was no longer fighting Hannibal's evil on his own. He had someone on his side, someone who was brilliant and who would fight for him.

He had no more reason to be afraid. He wasn't stumbling alone in the darkness. any longer.

Hannibal couldn't harm him now. Oh, he could try -- and he probably would, Will thought wryly. Hannibal wasn't the kind of person to let anything go that he considered "his."

Though why Hannibal should think of him in that way, Will hadn't a clue. They had never been involved; he'd never even been interested in Hannibal as anything more than a friend.

"Friend" wasn't exactly the way he would refer to the other man, he thought, wincing. A friend wouldn't do all that had been done to him. A friend wouldn't frame him for murder. A friend wouldn't encourage the spread of a deadly disease within him just to see what would happen.

Hannibal had never been his friend. Rather, he had been the villain of a movie, stealthily working his way into Will's life, into the framework of his existence, to perpetuate his evil.

And he'd been completely unknowing -- until he'd had nothing but time on his hands when he'd been imprisoned, and he had finally put two and two together and made five.

Well, he was done with being Hannibal's patsy. That wouldn't happen again.

There would be no more of his life playing out like a movie that he had no control over. From now on, Hannibal would be the one who was chased, the one who had to look over his shoulder.

He and Sherlock would make sure of that. There would be no more fear for him, no more hiding. There would be no more of letting Hannibal use him for his own machinations.

He was stronger than that, Will told himself firmly. He'd spent far too long believing that he should let the currents of life sweep him wherever they wanted, that he had to just follow along. He wasn't doing that now. He was taking charge of his own destiny, not letting someone else do it for him.

Hannibal no longer had any hold over him. The move that he'd been making of Will's existence was at a premature end -- and it would never be resumed.

From now on, the movie of his life was made with Sherlock by his side -- and with the two of them behind the camera, Will knew that movie would have a very happy ending.

He couldn't help smiling at that idea. A happy ending. Yes, that was what he needed.

With Sherlock, he had no doubt of his happiness. It was already there, growing within him, making every day a pleasure and an adventure, something to look forward to.

His life was now a place where he wanted to be, instead of a movie that someone else was directing. And Will had every intention of making sure that it stayed that way.


	75. From That First Glance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has been Sherlock's aphrodisiac from the first moment they met.

Sherlock looked down at his hands, then over at Will.

For some strange reason, his hands seemed to have a will of their own today. They didn't want to sit quietly in his lap, or do anything that could be considered work.

All they wanted to do was to run themselves through Will's dark curls, to touch his skin, to stroke his body. They wanted to be on Will. They _ached_ to touch him.

He had never felt like this about anyone else; he had never thought that physical touch was something he would actually _crave_ doing. But then, he had never known anyone like Will before, and he had never been involved in any sort of intimate relationship before this one.

He had never regretted that lack of a relationship. It had never meant much to him to make connections with others, and certainly not personal, intimate connections.

But it had been different with Will. The moment he had looked into his love's blue eyes, he had fallen -- and he never wanted to get up again.

Falling in love had come quickly, if a bit late, for him.

He hadn't expected to fall in love when he had met Will. But his emotions had veered crazily onto a path that he would never expected, completely out of control.

He wouldn't change their relationship for any reason, Sherlock told himself. He would never regret falling in love with Will. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

His life was no longer lonely -- Will filled those empty spaces, the parts of him that had secretly always yearned for a partner, for someone to be with. He had tried to fill them before with work, but that had never felt quite _right_ , no matter how much he had tried to convince himself that he was content.

Now, he was happier than he had ever been -- and that happiness was all due to the man he loved, to the emotions that the two of them shared.

But this was more than emotional. This was a .... a _need_.

A compulsion, really, Sherlock mused. His hands felt as though they wanted to go to Will, to touch him, to caress him, to hold him close of their own free will.

Will was an aphrodisiac, he told himself with a smile. One that he found it harder and harder to resist -- and, truth be told, one that he didn't _want_ to resist. He found himself wanting to touch Will all the time -- and even to do more than simply touch him.

He wanted his hands all over Will's naked body. And Will's hands all over his own. He wanted to feel Will's touch, to moan his lover's name aloud, to be overwhelmed by passion.

That thought brought a blush of color to Sherlock's cheeks. Why was he thinking this way? He had never had these kinds of thoughts before, never in his life.

But that was because he had never been in love before, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. He had never had anyone in his life to touch and love until now.

It still amazed him that he had Will in his life, that love had come to him so quickly, in one fell swoop. He had never expected to be so swept away by his emotions.

Will had turned his life upside down and inside out from the moment he had first decided to take on the strange case of why an obviously -- in his eyes, at least -- innocent man was in prison. A man who he was sure couldn't have committed the horrible crimes that he'd been accused of.

He had known from the moment he looked into those impossibly blue eyes that Will wasn't a killer. And perhaps that had also been the moment he'd fallen head over heels.

Will had been his aphrodisiac from that very first glance.

He was sure that this man would still be his aphrodisiac when they were old and grey. Sherlock couldn't imagine a time when he wouldn't want to be with Will.

How much longer would it be before their relationship would take another giant leap forward, and they would become lovers in the physical sense of the word? He was still a little nervous about that, but he was sure that the next step would come naturally for them.

After all, everything else between them had seemed to fall in line, happening in a natural forward progression. There was no reason to think that becoming lovers wouldn't be the same way.

Neither of them were clueless, and they had already enjoyed some tentative explorations. He had no reason to think that becoming physical lovers wouldn't come easily to them.

But the thought still made him a bit anxious.

Would he be good enough for Will when that time came? Would they both be left disappointed, unsatisfied, because of their shared lack of knowledge?

Sherlock pushed that thought away, determined not to think along those lines. It didn't matter that neither of them was experienced in the physical ways of love.

It didn't matter at all. It wasn't as though they didn't both know what was supposed to happen between two men, after all. And what they didn't know, they would learn together. Neither of them was approaching this on his own; they would find out what each other liked as a couple.

That brought a smile to his face -- and made his hands ache even more to touch his beloved, to hold Will close to him and whisper words of love into his ear.

He couldn't hold back the desire any longer. Sherlock pushed back his chair and moved across the room to where Will was sitting on the couch.

He couldn't stay away from the man who would always be his aphrodisiac.


	76. Not Dull At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is worried that Sherlock finds him dull, but his boyfriend quickly shows him otherwise.

"Sherlock, do you think I'm dull sometimes?"

Sherlock looked up, startled, his eyes wide. Will was sitting on the couch, looking at him as he lounged in a comfortable chair, trepidation in his blue eyes.

"What would make you ask that, my love?" Sherlock managed to get out, truly puzzled by Will's question. "Why would you think for even one moment that I find you dull?"

Will bit his lip, and Sherlock could see him struggling for the right words to say. He almost wanted to smile, but he was sure that doing such a thing would only add to WIll's anxiety. Though he couldn't understand why his boyfriend would be anxious; Will should know by now just how he felt.

He could never find this beautiful man dull, not in any way. He would always think that Will was the most exciting, most desirable person he'd ever met.

But he knew that Will was full of self-doubts at times, and as Will's lover, it was his job to assuage those doubts, to build up Will's self- confidence as much as he could.

He would do that to the best of his ability.

Will shrugged, seemingly trying to look nonchalant about his question, but Sherlock had heard the nervousness and anxiety in his voice when he had asked.

"I'm just not a very exciting guy, that's all," he murmured, his gaze not meeting Sherlock's. "I would have thought you'd want somebody who could bring a little more spice into your life."

Sherlock considered his words carefully before he spoke, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. "Will, I'm not sure where this has come from, but I can assure you, love, that you're more than exciting enough. I'm not looking for an exciting relationship. I'm looking for one that lasts."

"I guess all that's going on with Hannibal being out to get me is exciting," Will answered, a smile starting to form at the corners of his lips. "Nobody could deny that."

"No, they couldn't," Sherlock said, his own soft smile answering Will's. "But actually, I'll be glad when that excitement is over, he's behind bars, and things have settled down for us."

"I want that to happen soon," Will said, his voice very soft. "I just don't want you to get tired of me after all of this is over, Sherlock. I want you to keep loving me and keep wanting to be with me. I want a relationship that lasts, too," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I've never had one before."

Sherlock got up, coming to sit down on the couch next to Will and taking his boyfriend's hands in his own, raising them to his lips and kissing each fingertip.

"Neither have I, Will," he murmured. "I've never had a relationship at all. I've always been a bit afraid to be involved, you know. I'm just glad _you_ are my first. My first and _only_."

He leaned forward slightly, meeting Will's soft lips with his own.

The kiss was a gentle breath of air, like a soft spring breeze, bringing with it the promise of a shared future. A promise of forever, of days and nights to come, of a lifetime lived together.

When they finally broke apart, they were both panting slightly, and when each man opened his eyes to gaze at the other, those eyes were wide with wonder -- and desire.

"I could never find you dull in any way, my love," Sherlock said, his voice very soft. He raised one hand, his thumb gently tracing along the full curve of Will's bottom lip. "You will always be exciting to me, Will. And you will always be the keeper of my heart, come what may."

"I love you," Will whispered, his voice husky. "You'll always have my heart too, Sherlock. From now until eternity, until time itself ceases to exist. I'll be yours."

With that, they leaned into another kiss, this one longer and more insistent than the last. Sherlock pulled Will into his arms, bringing their bodies together just as their mouths were.

Oh no, there was nothing dull about this man. Nothing at all.


	77. Making A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will vows that Hannibal will never take the new home and the happiness that he's found here away from him, no matter what his nemesis might try to do.

When had he begun to think of London as being home?

Will smiled as he looked around him, keeping an eye on Winston as his dog gamboled in the park. He had taken the others for their first daily walk already, then decided to come here.

Sherlock was meeting him here in less than half an hour, and then they would take Winston back home and go out to lunch together at the nearby café.

It was a wonderful life that he was leading, one that he hadn't expected to have. He had thought that when he'd gotten out of jail, he would simply go back to his house in Wolf Trap, be reinstated into the FBI, and do more field work, as well as go back to teaching.

But things hadn't worked out that way. He'd surprised everyone, even himself, when he had accepted Sherlock's offer of a new life, a fresh start, and come here to live.

He loved what he was doing here. Teaching at Scotland Yard Academy, and working with the man he loved to solve cases. It was the life he had always wanted.

But he had thought that he'd always call Wolf Trap his home.

Even that had changed. He still thought of Wolf Trap, and the little house he'd owned there, with fondness, but he no longer felt that he was far from home, in a foreign place.

He'd slipped into London life more comfortably than he'd ever thought he could have. London felt like a warm security blanket that wrapped around him; even though it was a big city, and he had never really liked living in cities, he felt as though he _belonged_ here.

He felt safe here, and he was getting to know the city -- or at least the area that he and Sherlock lived in -- better than he'd ever known Baltimore, or DC, or even New Orleans.

London was more of a home to him than any other place he had ever lived.

He and Sherlock were making a home here, a home that he loved, one that he knew he could be happy in for the rest of his days, one that felt like a place he never wanted to leave.

Will had to admit that he didn't even miss Wolf Trap as much as he'd thought he would. There were some aspects of it that hs missed, but he was happy here in London.

Of course, he missed being able to go fishing in the lake near his house whenever he had the free time, and he _did_ miss the peace and quiet of the country. But it was peaceful on Baker Street, too -- the city wasn't nearly as noisy as he'd feared that it would be.

Baker Street somehow felt like a little haven right in the middle of the city. He never felt as though there were prying eyes, never felt closed in and suffocated.

He had felt that way any time he was in Baltimore, any time he spent the night in a hotel in a large city when he had to work on a case and stay overnight. London didn't fence him in.

This place had become home to him so quickly; even his dogs seemed to feel at home here. They enjoyed their twice-daily walks around the block, and romping in the nearby dog park. They were even lucky enough to have a small back yard, enclosed by a fence, where they could spend time.

Yes, London had become a home -- and a haven -- for all of them. But did he really feel completely safe here, knowing that Hannibal was stalking him?

The thought made a soft gasp come from Will's throat; he hadn't thought about that when he had decided to come to the park with Winston today. His safety might be at risk.

Could Hannibal be watching him, even now? Was he here, somewhere nearby?

Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He wasn't going to let himself think like that. If Hannibal was here, then he'd have to make a move in view of the public.

He knew that Hannibal wouldn't do that. He would keep himself hidden, make sure that any move he made would be under cover of darkness, hidden by the night. Hannibal wasn't going to do anything that could get him caught; he would err on the side of caution, at least for now.

His enemy had a good sense of self-preservation, and he had to know that he would be captured and carted off to jail if he made any sort of an impulsive move.

No, Will was safe enough here in the daylight, surrounded by people.

Hannibal wouldn't do anything to risk exposing himself, even though he could very well be hiding himself somewhere in this park, watching and waiting.

Will swallowed hard at the thought, forcing himself not to look around. He didn't want Hannibal to think that he was in any way worried about what his adversary's next move might be.

He wasn't going to give that bastard the satisfaction of making him feel hunted; he wasn't going to let Hannibal take away one bit of the joy that he'd found since he'd come here. That was what his enemy wanted; Hannibal would do anything to make Will unhappy in his new life.

Hannibal might be hunting him, but together, he and Sherlock would face that menace and defeat it, turn it aside and bring it to its knees. Together, they would triumph over evil.

He wasn't going to let Hannibal take away the peace that he'd found here in London with Sherlock. He wouldn't give that up easily. He'd fight for it, no matter what he had to do.

Hannibal had already taken enough from him. No more.

His nemesis had managed to take away his peace of mind once, and then his freedom. He'd almost killed Will, giving him a disease that could have proved fatal.

There was no forgiveness for that. There was no going back, no pretending that Hannibal could ever be his friend -- if he ever had been. And there was no way that he was going to let that bastard take away the home he'd made for himself, the happiness that now belonged to him.

He wasn't going to let himself be Hannibal's victim again. This time, he saw the situation clearly. There was no wool pulled down over his eyes any more.

This time, he also had Sherlock on his side.

Turning to glance at the entrance to the park, he saw Sherlock coming in at the gates, raising a hand to wave at him. Will couldn't keep a smile from spreading over his face.

Yes, this was definitely his home. He had not only found a home here, he'd found love -- and he wasn't going to let his worst enemy from his past take that away from him.


	78. Into the Roaring Cascade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wonders why he's dreaming of the past -- and why his mind insists that he jumped into a waterfall instead of off a roof.

Sherlock sat up in bed, eyes wide, chest heaving.

Why would he dream about that day on the roof with Moriarty? That was far behind him, and it wasn't something that he ever needed to think about again.

He had sworn that he was going to put that experience far behind him; he was going to keep it firmly in the past, where it belonged, and never take it out to look at it again.

It wasn't something that he ever needed to think about. It was over and done, and even though it had been a harrowing experience, both for himself and the people he'd cared for at the time, they'd all gotten through it, and made their peace with the consequences.

It was something that he'd had to do at the time, though he hoped to never go through anything like that again. The experience wasn't one that he'd ever care to repeat.

Especially not now that he had someone in his life who would be even more affected than he himself would if it were to happen again, Sherlock told himself, glancing at his sleeping boyfriend.

He would never put Will through that kind of pain.

He hadn't wanted to do it to his friends -- and he'd want to to do it to the man he loved with all of his heart and soul even less. He would never want Will to feel that sort of heartache.

Sherlock ran a hand over his face and through his hair, taking a few deep breaths. Everything was all right, he assured himself. Will was here, sleeping soundly beside him; he was safe in his bed in 221B, and Winston was slumbering in his dog basket near the bed. All was as it should be.

That dream had simply been so unsettling -- not only because of the foray into his past, but because of a few other elements that had been new to him.

He'd had this dream before, but never in this particular way.

There had been a waterfall in this dream -- one that he had seen before on a trip he'd taken. He remembered it vividly, the sound of the water as it had cascaded down.

Why was he dreaming about waterfalls -- and why did his mind tell him that he hadn't thrown himself from the roof of a building, but into that very cascade of sparkling water?

It was olnly a dream, Sherlock reminded himself, closing his eyes as the images from that dream came flooding back to him in crystal clarity. It was as though he had actually been there, with Moriarty instead of Watson, flinging himself into that waterfall in an attempt to end his greatest enemy once and for all.

But that had been done already. Moriarty was gone; he would never trouble anyone again, never harm another innocent person. He'd made sure of that.

Of course, Moriarty hadn't been gone when he'd been at the site of that glorious waterfall with Watson, but then, he hadn't been a part of Sherlock's life at that point.

So why was he dreaming about the bastard now, when he was a part of the past that was long gone? Why did he have this nagging feeling that Moriarty was somehow connected with the danger that hung over his and Will's heads now, in the form of that psychotic so-called psychiatrist?

Hannibal was just as bad as Moriarty; worse, in some ways. He knew that Hannibal was just as amoral as Moriarty had ever been, but somehow, he seemed even more of a threat.

Sherlock knew why that was, of course; Hannibal seemed to loom larger and more threateningly in his life because he intended harm to his beloved Will.

He was far more worried for Will's safety than for his own.

How could he think about his own safety when he could shake the feeling that the man he loved might be a target? He knew that Hannibal wanted Will, not him.

Though of course, Hannibal would know that he'd have to get rid of Sherlock before he would be able to get to Will, which should worry him much more than it did. He didn't doubt that the bastard would do anything he could to enable him to get his hands on Will again.

But he wouldn't let that happen, Sherlock told himself, his fists clenching at his sides. He wasn't going to let Hannibal Lecter get anywhere near the man he loved.

He would protect Will with his life, with everything he had.

That thought didn't frighten him, but the idea of losing Will did. Was that why the dream of the waterfall had come into his mind, why he thought that he had leaped into its roaring cascade?

Protecting Will from Hannibal was a bit like leaping into those rushing waters, with no idea of what would happen next, or if he would indeed emerge victorious.

No, he wasn't going to think like that. Sherlock firmly pushed that thought away from him, taking a few deep breaths and trying his best to focus. He wasn't going to be fatalistic. He _would_ keep Will safe, and he would put Hannibal Lecter behind bars, where the monster belonged.

Try as he might, that monster would never have access to Will again. Sherlock would made sure of that; he would keep the proverbial wolf from the door.

Again, he could hear the sound of that waterfall crashing through his mind, as though it was almost trying to tell him something. He frowned, searching the depths of his mind.

He couldn't go into his mind palace. This wasn't the place or the time.

He would do it later in the day, when he would better be able to grasp whatever it was that hid mind was trying to bring to the forefront. The meaning would unfold before his eyes.

Sherlock lay back down, turning onto his side and taking Will into his arms. The other man's eyelids fluttered, and he murmured in his sleep, burrowing into Sherlock's embrace, but he didn't wake up. Sherlock smiled softly, brushing back a lock of his boyfriend's curly hair.

They were safe for now. And later today, he would go into his mind palace, retrieve what his thoughts were searching for, and set his mind at rest.

He drifted back to sleep with the sound of cascading water rushing through his dreams.


	79. Spilling His Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is sure that Sherlock has a secret he wants to tell, and waits patiently to hear what it might be.

Somehow, Will couldn't help feeling that Sherlock had a secret.

And he had no idea how to get his boyfriend to reveal whatever that secret might be. 

Will frowned slightly as he glanced towards his boyfriend across the breakfast table. He didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Sherlock was keeping something from him.

The other man hadn't given him any real reason to feel this way; he had just seemed more secretive lately than he'd ever been, as though he was hiding something.

Will wanted to ask Sherlock what was wrong, but he could tell that his boyfriend was trying to pretend that everything was all right. Sherlock hadn't been like this yesterday, so he could only assume that something had happened during the night, probably some kind of dream.

He knew all about how dreams could throw a person for a loop and make them feel disoriented and even frightened, Will told himself with a grim smile.

Hadn't he had enough of those kinds of dreams when he'd been living in Wolf Trap, when he was dealing with the menace that was Hannibal Lecter on a daily basis?

He hadn't told anyone about his own secrets then, had he?

So he really shouldn't expect Sherlock to spill any of his secrets now. It wasn't fair of him to ask; everyone had a right to keep some things to themselves.

Only if Sherlock was keeping some secrets that involved Hannibal, Will felt that he should know. He appreciated the fact that Sherlock wanted to keep him safe and protected, but that protection could only go so far. Sherlock couldn't keep him wrapped in cotton wool all the time.

He couldn't be looked after, like a child, twenty-four hours a day. As much as Sherlock wanted to protect him, he was a grown man, not a little kid.

Whatever Sherlock was holding back, he wanted to know about it.

But how could he ask without seeming to be intrusive? Will gnawed at his lower lip, trying to think of a way to ask just what was on Sherlock's mind.

How did he ask his love such a question without seeming like he was prying? The last thing he wanted was to annoy his boyfriend; he knew that Sherlock could be moody at times, and it seemed that he was heading in that direction now. A question might only exacerbate that moodiness.

Still, he _had_ to know whatever the big secret was. And maybe it wasn't a secret at all. Maybe Sherlock wanted to talk to him, and was just waiting for the right moment.

He glanced at Sherlock again to find his lover watching him, a small smile hovering around the corners of those lips, the lips that he loved to kiss.

Will couldn't help returning the smile; somehow, when Sherlock smiled at him like that, everything else seemed to melt away, and there was only the two of them and what they felt for each other. When he saw that smile, the rest of the world, and everything in it, seemed unimportant.

"You're wondering what's bothering me today, aren't you?" Sherlock asked softly, not taking his gaze from Will's face. "I"m sorry if I've seemed moody, Will. I don't mean to."

"I know something's wrong," Will answered, his voice very soft.

Sherlock shook his head, a slight frown crossing his handsome features. "I wouldn't say _wrong_ , exactly," he said, his voice coming slowly. "I'm not entirely sure what it is."

"But you have some kind of secret that you're debating whether you should keep hidden from me," Will said softly, sure that he was right about this. "I think you've gone into your mind palace to think about it, and I think it probably kept you up for a while last night, too."

Sherlock's frown turned into a smile, then a laugh. "You know me all too well, my sweet," he said, lifting his hands in concession. "You're right about all of that."

Will couldn't help smiling along with his boyfriend.

"Yes, I've spent time in my mind palace today," Sherlock said, his words coming slowly, as though he was thinking of what to say before he said it. "And I've come to a conclusion."

"And what is that?" Will asked, almost holding his breath. If Sherlock was going to tell whatever secret he was keeping, now would be the time for him to spill it out.

"That we should go to Switzerland, and see a certain waterfall," Sherlock told him, looking him directly in the eye. "I've been there before, and something tells me that the dream I had last night could be a premonition of something that may be in store for me. For us. Something that I want to avoid."

"Are you going to tell me about it, or is it going to stay a secret until we get to Switzerland?" Will asked, wondering just what it was that Sherlock had dreamed about.

His boyfriend let out a soft sigh, then leaned forward across the table towards Will, his expression serious enough to take the smile away from Will's face.

"I'll tell you all about it, love," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Somehow, Will didn't think that he was going to like what he was about to hear.


	80. Only When I Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has doubts about the proposed trip to Switzerland, and what it might accomplish.

"So you see, I only have these worries when I dream," Sherlock concluded.

Will sat back, trying to assimilate everything he'd just heard his boyfriend tell him. "So you think that somehow this place in Switzerland is tied to Moriarty," he said, frowning.

Sherlock nodded, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table. "I don't know why, but yes, I do," he said, his voice very soft. "And I want to find out why."

"But it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the two of you," Will protested, shaking his head. "I don't know why you'd keep dreaming about this waterfall, and jumping into it, but it just feels like your mind has somehow gotten a vision of that rushing water mixed up with the ruse you pulled on him."

"That could be the case," Sherlock admitted. "But _why_ would my mind substitute the waterfall I viewed for the roof of St. Bartholomew's? It doesn't make sense."

"I don't know," Will said, feeling frustrated. He wished that this was something they could get to the bottom of quickly, but he knew that it wasn't.

He had no idea what was happening in Sherlock's mind.

"I haven't thought about that waterfall for a long time, Will," Sherlock told him, sounding sober and thoughtful. "But lately, it's been coming into my dreams. Always dreams of Moriarty."

"Why him, and not Hannibal?" Will blurted out, unable to keep the question back. "Moriarty is dead. He's not a problem any more. You said so yourself. But Hannibal is very much alive."

"Perhaps my mind is putting the two of them together, as I think that they're the two worst criminals I've ever been up against," Sherlock murmured ruminatively. "Well, I should include Magnussen in that. He was terrible, as well. They're the triumvirate of criminal masterminds."

Personally, Will thought that there had been worse criminals in the world, though since he hadn't dealt with Moriarty or Magnussen personally, he didn't speak up.

But Hannibal .... now, in that respect, Sherlock was right. Hannibal was one of the worst criminals that Will had ever had to deal with, even though no one believed him guilty.

Jack Crawford and the rest of the people he'd worked with at the FBI had all acted as though Hannibal's word was law, as though they believed that he was some kind of god. His fists clenched at the thought; he so badly wanted to prove that he was right about that bastard, and put him behind bars.

Sherlock was the only one who believed him -- but Sherlock was the only person he needed to be on his side. They _would_ prove Hannibal's guilt. Together.

Though at the moment, he wasn't sure just how they would accomplish that, especially now, with Hannibal obviously coming after them in a big way.

Will knew that his enemy wouldn't stay hidden for much longer.

"I wish I knew why I was dreaming of that waterfall -- and why I threw myself into it in the dream," Sherlock said, his voice tight with tension. "My mind must be confusing it with what actually happened."

"Let's hope that if we _do_ go to Switzerland to visit that waterfall, you don't decide to make the dream come true," Will murmured, a shudder going through his body.

In his mind's eye, he could see Sherlock leaping into the waterfall, see his boyfriend's body smashed on the rocks that he somehow knew were hidden beneath the cascading, churning water. He could already feel the devastation of knowing that Sherlock was gone, that he had lost the only love he would ever have.

The thought was too painful to bear. Just the mental image of what he knew could happen brought a whimper to Will's lips, a sound that he couldn't hold back.

"Will, what is it?" Sherlock's arms were around him; his boyfriend was pulling him to his feet, holding Will close against the reassuring warmth of his body. "What's wrong?"

Will wrapped his arms around the other man, clinging to him.

"Will, don't worry," Sherlock whispered into his ear. "The visions of me jumping into that waterfall aren't some sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I promise you they aren't."

"Then why would you dream about doing that, if it didn't have something to do with the future?" Will whispered, his voice full of fear. "Why would you even think about doing something like that?"

"I don't know, my love," Sherlock told him, holding him close and stroking his hair. "But I'm not that stupid, Will. I won't do something like that. Not now that I have you in my life to think about, as well as myself. And I don't have those thoughts in my waking hours, you know. It's only when I dream that they come to me."

Will nodded, but he still didn't feel reassured. Why would Sherlock be dreaming about things like that? Why would he even think about jumping into a waterfall?

He couldn't know the answers to those questions, and neither could Sherlock. All either of them could do was face their fears, and hope that the worst wouldn't come to pass.

"Perhaps I need to see that waterfall again," Sherlock said. "To exorcise the dreams."

Reluctantly, Will nodded, not wanting to agree with his boyfriend, but knowing that he had to. After all, maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe he needed that confrontation.

If Sherlock stood there and looked at that waterfall, then turned and walked away from it, maybe the dreams of jumping into it would stop. Maybe then he would be free of those disturbing visions, and the two of them could move into the future and deal with the problem at hand.

Hannibal. He was their enemy now, not a waterfall, not Moriarty or anyone else from Sherlock's past. He was the direct threat that they had to deal with.

A threat that wasn't going to go away until they finally faced him down.

Hopefully, going to Switzerland and seeing this waterfall would be one problem out of the way, and then they could concentrate on proving Hannibal's guilt and bringing him to justice.

Will closed his eyes, burrowing into Sherlock's embrace. He hoped that this proposed trip would eradicate Sherlock's dreams, and that they would be able to put the future into a better perspective.


	81. A Sense of Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock realizes that he should have been more cautious on this trip to Switzerland.

"It looks exactly as I remembered it."

Sherlock looked around him, his grip on Will's hand unconsciously tightening as they strolled along the path that led to the waterfall, through the surrounding forest.

There was no one else here; a slight drizzle had kept other tourists to Switzerland from coming out. But Sherlock hadn't wanted to postpone confronting the scene of his dreams.

Something about this pastoral, quiet scene just didn't feel right to him. It felt as though there was some underlying danger here, though he couldn't put his finger on just what was bothering him. Nothing seemed out of place, but there was some sense of unease that he couldn't push aside.

Sherlock resolved to be more wary and cautious than usual; he wasn't going to risk anything happening to Will. If the danger he felt was real, he didn't want it turning on his boyfriend.

"It's beautiful," Will murmured, squeezing his hand in return. "What I don't get it why you dream about throwing yourself into the waterfall. It doesn't inspire that feeling in me."

"It didn't when I was here before," Sherlock told him, shaking his head.

He didn't know why his dreams took such a macabre turn, either. He would never have thought that such a magnificent sight could inspire him to end his own life.

The waterfall was beautiful; he had to admit that. There was nothing about it that he thought would fill someone with so much despair that they would want to give up on living.

Yet for some odd reason, that was what his dream self had done. Why? Nothing here gave him an answer, as he had hoped that it would. But that sense of danger around them was growing; he felt nervous and jumpy, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was get back to the safety of their hotel room.

They shouldn't have come here, Sherlock told himself. They didn't belong here. Somehow, he had been lured to this place, and not knowing the reason _why_ terrified him.

Why were they here? Why had he listened to some indefinable voice inside his head, instead of following his good sense and brushing off his dreams? They were only dreams, after all.

Still, dreams could be prophetic, and he couldn't help feeling that this one was. There was on other reason for him to be feeling such a sense of foreboding, when nothing else on this trip to Switzerland had made him feel that they were being watched, that danger was hovering over them.

Will didn't seem to feel it, but then, he hadn't told Will about this strange sense of being followed. He hadn't wanted to worry his boyfriend. Will already had enough to deal with.

A sudden thought occurred to Sherlock, jolting him as though he'd been hit by a thunderbolt. Why hadn't he realized it before? What was wrong with him?

He had been lulled into a false sense of safety. He should have known better.

Hannibal. He had no doubt that Will's nemesis had followed them here, that he was lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to make them both his next victims.

No, he wouldn't want to make Will a victim. He would want to claim Will for his own. It was Sherlock who he would try to do away with, probably in as painful as way as possible.

He couldn't have actually sent those dreams. He didn't have that kind of power. But Sherlock had no doubt that those dreams had come to him subconsciously because of his concerns about Hannibal. His worries had made their way into his slumbering hours, creating a dream world that felt _real_.

He didn't doubt that Hannibal was here. He might not be with them now, but he was in Switzerland. He wouldn't lose a chance to follow them, to observe what they were doing.

And here, away from the security of the London streets that they knew well, he would have a better chance of doing away with one of them.

Sherlock cursed himself for not thinking of all this much sooner.

He'd had enough of looking at this cursed waterfall. He saw it enough in his dreams. It had been a mistake to come here, one that he was afraid they might pay dearly for.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured to Will, sliding an arm around his boyfriend's waist. "I just want to go home. I don't think it was a good idea to come here."

Was it his imagination, or did Will suddenly look cautious, rather than confused by his words? It was as though his own worry, his own certainty that Hannibal was somewhere near, had spread to Will without him having to say a word. If that was so, then Will would agree that they needed to leave.

Will only nodded, turning away from the waterfall. "Okay," he said, a note of curiosity in his voice. "This trip was your idea, so I'll defer to you on whatever you want to do, Sherlock."

Sherlock could only feel grateful that Will wasn't questioning him here and now, though he had no doubt that those questions would come later. "Thank you, love. Let's get back to the hotel."

They turned away from the waterfall as one, ready to make their way back.

But as they did so, a figure stepped from the shadows -- a tall, thin figure with slicked-back hair. A figure that had become all too familiar to both of them.

Will gasped, his blue eyes going wide. Sherlock fought not to show any emotion whatsoever; he didn't want to betray the sudden pounding of his heart, the chill down his spine.

"Hello, Will," Hannibal said, his voice low and menacing.

Neither Will nor Sherlock answered his greeting. They merely stood still, waiting.


	82. Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Hannibal have their final confrontation, with surprising results.

"You both look surprised to see me."

Hannibal's voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he strode out of the shadows, standing in front of Will and Sherlock in living color, as though he had appeared out of nowhere.

Sherlock cursed himself for not having realized that Hannibal was near them. He was usually more alert than that, but he had been so distrated lately.

His distraction might prove to be their downfall. It was dangerous here; there were cordons to keep people from being too close to the waterfall, but he didn't doubt that if Hannibal rushed him and he was surprised enough to not be on his guard, he could be pushed into the rocks and churning foam.

He didn't doubt that was just what Hannibal had planned for him. His death would leave Hannibal free to do as he wished with Will, which had been his plan all along.

But he wasn't going to allow that to happan, Sherlock told himself firmly. He would protect Will to his last breath, and if he went, then he would take Hannibal Lecter with him.

He wouldn't leave Will vulnerable for this monster to prey on.

"I shouldn't be," he said as calmly as he could, in reply to Hannibal's words. 'I should have known that you would find a way to confront us in a lonely place."

"A rather dangerous place, wouldn't you say?" Hannibal told him with a smirk. "I'm sure that quite a few people have accidentally gone to their deaths at these falls. It would be unfortunate if one more death were to be added to the others -- say, the death of a famous consulting detective."

"That isn't going to happen," Sherlock said quietly. "That death could just as easily be the death of a psychiatrist -- one who, it will be discovered, is also a serial killer."

Hannibal raised a brow, his smirk becoming more pronounced.

"I believe that I'm a bit more careful than that," he said, his tone suave and smooth. "If you believe that I am going to make any mistakes here, you are sadly mistaken, Mr. Holmes."

Hannibal took a step forward, moving closer to the two of them, and though his face bore a bland, innocuous expression, Sherlock could see the evil lurking behind those dark eyes.

Sherlock took a step backwards, instinctively trying to block Will from Hannibal's view. He didn't know why he thought this, but it seemed that if he could keep Will out of Hannibal's line of sight, he would somehow be safe. He knew that was ridiculous, but his brain didn't seem to be working properly.

He didn't want Will to be anywhere this monster. Sherlock knew very well what Hannibal was capable of, and he wasn't going to let Will be harmed in any way.

What if it came down to a physical fight between himself and Hannibal? He was in good shape, but could he manage to defeat such evil purpose?

He had to, he told himself grimly. He might be fighting for not only his own life, but Will's as well. And if he was killed and Hannibal managed to claim Will again, even if he kept Will alive for a while, he had no doubt that the man he loved would eventually meet his demise at Hannibal's hands.

Hannibal was a serial killer. He wasn't capable of any finer emotions; he couldn't love anyone, no matter what he might claim. He had no love for Will, no compassion, no empathy.

The only purpose that Hannibal had was to destroy. He couldn't be allowed to add Will's life to all the others that he had so callously taken.

Sherlock glared at the other man, not bothering to hide his distaste.

How had Hannibal managed to hide his presence, to follow them and yet keep himself so inconspicuous? Sherlock cursed himself again for his inattentiveness.

If he was functioning at his full capacity, then he would have realized that something wasn't right, that they were being followed. He would have somehow been able to _sense_ a malicious presence near them. His senses were always on the alert, but this time, he hadn't paid attention to them.

He could only hope that he hadn't made a fatal mistake, and that this waterfall wouldn't end up being his final resting place, as he was sure Hannibal intended.

If they were lucky, his lack of attention wouldn't cost them their lives.

When Hannibal jumped for him, he was ready. He raised his hands to fend off the other man's attack, knowing that Hannibal would most likely have a knife with him.

The two of them fell to the ground, Hannibal on top of Sherlock. His hands were on Hannibal's shoulders, holding the other man away from him as they struggled.

He saw the gleam of silver as it came down past his face to bury itself in the ground up to the hilt. He was looking up at Hannibal, seeing the ugliness of that skeleton-like visage above him, the eyes cold and unfeeling, the lips twisted with hatred. He was seeing evil in its purest form.

Dimly, Sherlock heard Will cry out, and he knew that his boyfriend had drawn his gun. But could Will get a shot off in the confusion? Did he have a clear line of fire?

He knew that Will wouldn't risk firing and hitting him, not if there was any chance that he could be harmed. Will wasn't going to risk his life, even if they could take Hannibal out with a shot.

No, he would have to finish this himself.

Using all of his strength, he managed to push Hannibal away from him and spring to his feet. He faced the other man as Hannibal got up, his muscles gathering for another assault.

When it came, Sherlock felt himself being propelled back towards the guard rail that kept people from getting too close to the falls. He knew that it was now or never. This was their final battle.

Hannibal would try to push him over that rail to his death. He knew that in his heart, as well as he knew his own name. Hannibal wanted his death; he wanted to walk out of here with Will, leaving Sherlock as only a dim memory in Will's mind as he gave himself over to Hannibal's plans.

He wouldn't let that happen. He had promised Will a new life, a good life, and he wasn't going to let this monster take that life away from the two of them.

With a supreme effort, he twisted his body to the side as Hannibal came for him, letting the momentum of the other man's dash for him propel Hannibal over the rails.

There wasn't a chance for him to reach out and attempt to save his enemy.

Will ran to the railing next to him as they both heard the echo of Hannibal's one cry, abruptly cut off as the sound of the waterfall crashed and reverberated around them.

Sherlock closed his eyes. It was over. Hannibal was gone. If his body was found -- which Sherlock doubted it would be -- then it would probably be far too battered to make an immediate identification. People would simply assume that he had slipped and fallen to his death while he was here alone.

The two of them stood there for a very long time, looking down at what they both hoped was Hannibal's final resting place, before they turned away as one.

"Come on, love," Sherlock said softly, taking Will's hand. "Let's go home."

Will nodded, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. Sherlock slid his arm around his boyfriend's waist, supporting him as they headed down the path that led away from the waterfall.

Hannibal was gone. The greatest menace to their life together had been vanquished.

Sherlock hoped fervently that they had seen the last of their nemesis, and that the path ahead of them was clear, free of any obstacles that could threaten their future.

It was over. Hannibal couldn't harm them any more. He was gone.

But Sherlock was still going to stay alert and wary. Just in case.

After all, they couldn't be too careful.


	83. Only Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday, Will might have been afraid of this step. Today, everything has changed.

Yesterday, everything had seemed so different.

That was all Will could think about as he pulled a t-shirt over his head and got ready for bed. How different everything felt now that he knew Hannibal was gone.

Was he really gone? The idea that he might not be sent a cold chill down Will's spine. The last thing he wanted was for Hannibal to keep menacing the two of them.

No one could survive that fall, he told himself firmly. He and Sherlock had both seen Hannibal go crashing down into the water, seen the foaming rapids close over him. There was no way that anyone could have held on to life through that, not even someone as tenacious as Hannibal Lecter.

He was gone. Gone for good. He would never come after the two of them again, never spread his dark miasma over their lives. They were free of him.

Only yesterday, it had felt as though they would never escape from the dark cloud that he cast over their lives. And now, they had been delivered from his evil.

He felt cleansed, as though he was ready to start a new life.

He was sure that Sherlock felt the same way; his boyfriend had been even more worried about Hannibal's presence in their lives than he himself had been.

Sherlock had been worried for _him_ , Will knew. That was why his boyfriend had whisked him across the pond to London, away from Hannibal's influence in Wolf Trap.

He would always be grateful to Sherlock for giving him this life, a life that he'd never thought he could have. He'd been so sure that he would always be alone, that a relationship wasn't in the cards for him. When they'd met, he had long since convinced himself that no one would ever love him.

And now, he had Sherlock, and life that he loved. A life that he wasn't going to give up -- a life that Hannibal Lecter could no longer touch with his darkness.

Only yesterday, he'd wondered if that darkness would always be there, hovering over his head like a thundercloud, taking away his happiness and replacing it with fear.

He'd never have to feel that fear again, Will told himself, feeling his spirits lift. Never again would he have to worry that Hannibal would threaten him; never again would he have to worry that something could happen to Sherlock due to his former psychiatrist's madness.

They were free. Only yesterday, he'd felt as though Hannibal was forcing them into a little box, forcing them to take the path that he wanted them on. That was over now.

Sherlock came into the bedroom, smiling as he reached for Will's hand. "What are you thinking of, my sweet? You look terribly serious. Come to bed, and let's talk about it."

Will gazed into those eyes, and threw all caution to the winds.

He knew what he wanted; he'd been thinking about it all day. They had discussed other things, of course, but this had been in the back of his mind through all of their conversations.

He wanted to be with Sherlock. Here. Tonight. He wanted this to be the first day of the rest of their lives together, lives that were free of the past.

"I'm thinking about us," he said softly, gazing at Sherlock with an intensity in his blue eyes that let the other man know just what he was thinking about. "I'm thinking about how much I want you. About how much I want this to be the first night of the rest of our lives. The first night that we're together."

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening, his voice trembling slightly when he spoke. "A-are you sure, Will? I want that, too. I just want you to be positive."

"I am," Will answered in a mere whisper, his gaze telling Sherlock all that he couldn't manage to put into words at the moment as he held out his hands to his boyfriend.

Only yesterday, he might have felt afraid to do this.

But now, his fears were gone. They had receded, leaving only desire in their wake.

As one, they moved slowly towards the bed.


	84. So Much More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Sherlock finally consummate their relationship.

Their clothes seemed to simply fall away.

Will didn't know how they were suddenly naked; he didn't remember removing anything. He could only think of Sherlock, and of how much he wanted this man.

Sherlock's skin was under his hands, soft and smooth, his body slim and yet muscular. He knew this body; he'd touched Sherlock so many times.

But this time would be different. This time, they would actually make love. Sherlock would be inside him; their bodies would be joined in a way that he'd never experienced before. Sherlock would be his first, just as he would be Sherlock's first. They would take this leap together.

This was what he wanted, what he'd wanted since the first time Sherlock had kissed him. They were finally going to consummate their feelings for each other physically.

How could he _not_ want this? And it was so much more than just sex. This was love; this was not only a matter of bodies meeting, but hearts and souls as well.

It was finally going to happen. It _was_ happening.

They fell onto the bed, and out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Sherlock reach for the drawer of the bedside table for the lube they'd put there.

Both of them had probably felt that this was going to be the time when they came together; they had known that this trip was going to be more than they'd originally planned.

He spread his legs, giving Sherlock better access to his body, feeling the other man's warm fingers sliding between his parted thighs. Will gasped softly when one finger pressed against his entrance, then slid inside him more easily than he'd thought it would.

So this was what it felt like, he thought dazedly. 

It was _wonderful_. It felt better than he'd ever dreamed it could, but that was only because this was Sherlock touching him, the man he loved with all of his being.

His hips bucked upwards as a second finger entered him, the feeling of fullness making him gasp again, his blue eyes widening with pleasure.

His hand clutched Sherlock's shoulders, holding on to his lover.

He gasped again in surprise when Sherlock's fingers slid out of him, and his lover moved over him to gaze down into his eyes. Will had never seen such an expression of desire on anyone's face -- not only desire, but love. He could _feel_ how much Sherlock loved and wanted him.

All the love and desire in the world were in that gaze, those pale aquamarine eyes taking in his face as though he was the loveliest being that Sherlock had ever seen.

Will's hands tightened on Sherlock's shoulders; all he wanted was for this man to be inside him, to fill him, to take him, to join their two bodies as one.

And then his lover thrust inside him, and the intense pleasure began in earnest.

Will wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, a low, guttural moan coming from his throat. It was a sound of pure, incredible pleasure, one that he'd never felt before.

No one other than Sherlock could make him feel like this; of that he was utterly convinced. They had been made for each other, meant to come together like this.

Sherlock felt it, too. He didn't doubt that for a moment. He could tell by the look on his lover's face, by the way that the other man moaned his name aloud, by the expression in those pale eyes. Their gazes locked and held, just as their bodies locked in this fierce mating dance.

Will wanted this to last forever, though he knew that it couldn't. All too soon, it was spiraling to a climax; he was being lifted to the stars, to dizzying heights that he'd never reached.

When his orgasm broke over him, it was as though he was drowning in waves of pleasure, sensations that were unlike anything he'd ever thought he could experience.

And it was all because of the man he'd given himself to.

Will curled into Sherlock's arms with a soft sigh of satisfaction, closing his eyes as he drifted back down to earth, safely held in the protection of his lover's arms.

"I love you," he whispered as he buried his face against Sherlock's chest, knowing that no other words were needed. Those three were more than enough.

Those words expressed exactly how he felt; nothing else needed to be said. He had shown Sherlock how much he was loved by sharing his body with the other man, and the words were only a confirmation of those feelings. He was sure that his lover felt just the same.

This was so much more than sex; this was love in its purest form, a love that reached to the stars and beyond, a love that would only grow stronger with time.

"And I love you, my darling," Sherlock whispered, his deep voice wrapping around WIll like a soft, warm blanket. "Now and always, Will. Never forget that."

Will smiled at those words, snuggling into Sherlock's embrace.

"I won't," he promised, sounding sleepy and sated. He wanted nothing more than to sleep in Sherlock's arms, and to wake in the morning and do this all over again.

It only took moments for him to fall asleep cuddled next to his boyfriend, falling into dreams of the future, dreams that held only light and love, dreams that seemed just as potent as reality.

Those dreams brought a smile to Will's lips, and joy to his heart.

He had no way of knowing if those dreams woudl come true, but he hoped they would.


	85. Sleeping With Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still hard for Sherlock to believe that he and Will can now have a safe and happy future together.

It was hard to believe that he and Will had made love.

It had been the most wonderful experience of his entire life, Sherlock thought with a smile as he carefully pulled Will closer against the warmth of his own body.

He wrapped his arms around the other man, smiling softly when Will murmured in his sleep and snuggled against him. It was so perfect to wake up like this.

Of course, they had been sharing a bed for a while now, and they had touched each other's bodies. They had done so many things that had been considered sex, but they hadn't made love until these past few hours. They hadn't shared their bodies in the most intimate of ways.

Now that they had, he couldn't help wondering why they had waited so long, but at the same time, he understood just why they had held back.

Somehow, they had both needed Hannibal's death to bring them together in such a way. They had wanted to wait for that final commitment until they knew that they were safe.

Now that they were, there would be no more holding back.

They had nothing to be afraid of any more. There was no reason for them to look over their shoulders and wonder when Hannibal might decide to strike.

That fear had been removed last night at the waterfall. It still seemed incredible to him that Hannibal could no longer bother them, that his malevolence was gone from their lives.

But it was, and he would be forever grateful for that fact. Nothing threatened Will any longer; they would be safe from now on. Sherlock almost chuckled at the thought; given what they both did for a living, of course they wouldn't be safe. They would always have enemies.

Though their greatest enemy was now gone.

Perhaps it would seem more real after it had been a fact for a while, he mused. But at the moment, it still all seemed a bit like a dream, not something that he'd lived through.

Sherlock held Will more closely against him, looking down at the man sleeping in his arms. There was a slight curve to Will's lips, as though he was smiling in his sleep.

He must be having a pleasant dream, which was a good thing.

Will looked an angel, sleeping so peacefully in his arms. Sherlock was just glad that he wasn't plagued by a nightmare of what had happened earlier; the last thing that he wanted was for Will to be haunted by what had taken place at the waterfall. He wanted his love to put that out of his mind.

Of course, neither of them would ever be able to do that. Not completely. There would always be a memory of that night in their minds, a memory that would never fully disappear.

He wasn't going to think about that now, Sherlock told himself firmly. He was simply going to lie here and think about what was a head of them, their future as a couple.

It was going to be a wonderful future. Of that he was sure.

The angel sleeping in his arms was now a part of his life for good. Of course, Will had been a part of his life before -- but now, they had an undisturbed future ahead of them.

He'd never thought that he would be sleeping with angels before he'd met Will, Sherlock told himself with a smile as he reached out to brush a stray curl from Will's forehead.

But he had never known anyone like Will Graham before. This man was an angel fallen to the earth, a bastion of good in a world that contained far too much evil. Will was a bright shining light in a darkness that had surrounded him for far too long; Will was not only his love, but his salvation.

He had found a happiness that he'd never thought possible for himself, and he was going to keep that happiness. He would do anything for this man, anything at all.

After so many years of wondering what it would be like to fall in love, to give his heart completely, he finally knew. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he fully embraced.

It was a feeling that had been well worth waiting for. 

Will _was_ an angel, he told himself, bowing his head to press a gentle kiss to the sleeping man's forehead. And he was the one who was lucky enough to be with him.

Sherlock didn't know why fate had decided to smile on him in such a way, but he was glad that it had. He felt as peace, as though he had finally found where he belonged.

He had never experienced this sense of belonging before -- he had always been on the outside looking in, ever since he was a child. He knew that Will had felt that way, as well. So now, the two of them had each other to cling to. Neither of them ever had to feel alone again.

They were no longer outsiders in a world that shut them out. They had their own little world, a world of their own making, one that they could be comfortable in. 

It was a world where he could sleep with an angel and feel that he was exactly where he should be. A world that he had waited for all of his life.

Sherlock closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips. 

The angel in his arms sighed softly, moving closer to him. That movement only made him hold Will more tightly, the other man's heart beating in rhythm with his own.

With a smile on his lips that matched Will's, Sherlock drifted off to sleep with his lover in his arms, his own dreams pleasant and undisturbed by any bad memories.


	86. Needing Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reflecting on their first night of passion, Will can't help but wonder why he's the lucky man who has Sherlock as his knight in shining armor.

Will awakened slowly, memories of the night before flooding his senses.

He and Sherlock had made love last night -- and it had been the most incredible experience he had ever known. Nothing had ever come close to what he'd felt.

It seemed impossible that he could have felt such things -- but he had. And it was all due to the man he loved. Sherlock had given him more than he'd dreamed of.

Will couldn't hold back a smile as he thought of his lover, opening his eyes to gaze at the man sleeping beside him. He was here, with Sherlock, and they had beaten their adversary. Hannibal would never bother them again. He was dead and gone. He would never menace anyone else.

That almost didn't seem possible, either, but it was true. The dark cloud that had been hanging over him was now gone; the skies were clear for as far as he could see.

And that was due to Sherlock, too.

They would have come here if Sherlock hadn't insisted that they do so; it had been due to him that they'd had the final confrontation with Hannibal, and come out on top.

What would he have done if Hannibal had managed to defeat Sherlock? Will closed his eyes again, a shudder going through his slender body. He didn't want to think about that; and anyway, it hadn't happened. Sherlock had battled with Hannibal, and he'd been victorious.

He couldn't have done that; if he'd been the one who had to go up against their enemy, he doubted that he would have come out on the winning side.

Oh, he'd have put up a good fight, but he didn't think that he could have beaten Hannibal. Sherlock was more of a physical fighter than he was; his lover had more experience with that side of things.

Sherlock had saved his life, and given them a future.

He felt a wave of tenderness wash through him towards this man who had given him so much more than he felt he could ever repay, more than he'd ever deserved.

He didn't feel that he'd really given Sherlock much of anything. He'd made the other man worry, given him sleepless nights, and so many complications in his life. And in return, Sherlock had given him love and security, a new life, and had defeated the worst enemy that he'd ever had.

This man was a hero, Will thought, reaching out to stroke a gentle hand down Sherlock's jaw. A knight in shining armor that he would always be grateful for.

He was the luckiest man in the world to have Sherlock's love and devotion.

Who else did he know who could say that they had a knight in shining armor who was willing to walk through fire for them? he asked himself with a soft smile.

No one. Nobody he knew had someone at their side who was willing to lay down their lives for them. So he would do all that he could to deserve having that knight in his corner.

Even if he wasn't exactly the picture of a damsel in distress.

Will had to smile at that thought. Himself, a damsel in distress? He hardly thought so. He'd always felt that he was able to take care of himself when he had to.

After all, he'd done that before, hadn't he? He had defended himself against Hannibal in the past -- even though he hadn't seemed to do that great of a job at it. Maybe he _did_ need someone on his side, someone who always had his back, someone who would fight for him.

He'd never thought that he could have such a person in his life. He'd thought that a relationship wasn't for him, that giving his heart would only make him weak.

But Sherlock had changed all that. He knew now that he needed love.

Another wave of tenderness went through him that was even stronger than the first one, an emotion so strong that he almost cried out aloud.

He had never known that he could feel like this before he met Sherlock. He would never have dreamed that he could harbor such strength of feeling; he'd though that he kept his emotions tamped down, closed off, well hidden. He had always considered himself to be in control.

Now, he knew that he wasn't. This wild sweet love that Sherlock had drawn to the surface was unlike anything he'd ever felt before -- and he reveled in it.

He didn't need to have a definition for this love. It was enough that it existed.

All he needed to know was that he _needed_ this love in his life, this tenderness, this ache in his heart and soul every time he looked at his lover.

He and Sherlock had both always thought that love would distract them from their purpose in life, but they'd both been so wrong about that.

Love didn't make either of them weaker -- it bonded them, drew them together, and made them stronger. Love was a driving force, one that he'd never realized could be so acute. Love gave him power; it didn't distract him at all. Rather, it only made him more determined and resolute.

He needed the tenderness that he felt whenever he looked at Sherlock. He needed that tenderness to ease his heart and soul, to heal the wounds he'd carried for all of his life.

If anyone could do that, it was the man he loved, Will thought with a soft smile as he closed his eyes, relaxing into the softness of the pillows.

Within moments, he was asleep again, one hand resting on Sherlock's chest.


	87. Soothing His Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock faces a fear that he's been trying to hide from himself.

Hannibal and Moriarty were both dead.

That could only be seen as a good thing, Sherlock thought as he leaned back in his seat on the plane, closing his eyes. His greatest enemies had been vanquished.

He and Will had nothing to fear any more. There was no reason for him that feel that they were still being pursued, or being watched. The two of them were safe.

Then why did he have the feeling that there was still something hovering in the background, watching them, throwing a black pall over the happiness they could have for the rest of their lives? He didn't know, but he just had the feeling that their troubles weren't over yet.

There was no reason for him to feel like this. Yet that nameless fear still lurked in the background, ready to jump out at him with teeth and claws at the ready.

Why did he feel this way? This fear didn't seem to be the same as the fear that he'd felt for Will when he had known that Hannibal was still out there with his sights set on Will.

No, this was a different kind of fear entirely.

With a start, Sherlock opened his eyes, stifling the small gaps that came to his lips. Will was asleep beside him, and he didn't want to wake his boyfriend.

He knew exactly what that fear was, and why he felt it. He didn't have any idea why he hadn't thought of this before; now, the reason for the fear seemed crystal-clear to him.

He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to find another case that interested him, and that he would become agitated and snappish with Will, as he had done with Watson when they worked together. And he was terrified that Will would get tired of dealing with that attitude and leave him.

Of course, if he _did_ act in such a fashion, Will would be entirely justified in leaving. He would probably do so himself if he was in the other man's place.

But it was something that he couldn't bear to think about. 

Losing Will would be a fate worse than death for him. If he lost the man he loved, then the bottom would drop out of his world. There would be nothing left to live for.

Will kept him going. Will gave him a reason to live, a reason to hope for a happy future. The future that he'd never before thought it was possible for him to have.

Without Will, he would be lost. He would be nothing.

Oh, he would still be the world's first and foremost consulting detective -- probably the only one. But there would be an empty hole in his life that work could never fill.

Work had been enough before Will had come into his life. When he had thought that he'd never find love, that it was for other people but never for him, he had thought that his life was complete, that he didn't need anything else. He had been so wrong, and now he knew that.

Falling in love had made him strong, but it had also made him vulnerable. He had more fears now that he was happy than he'd had when he was alone.

Now that those walls had come down, he was beset by many more worries than he'd had before. Mainly worries for Will and his safety, worries for the future of their relationship.

Did everyone who fell in love feel like this? How could they not?

Sherlock sighed softly, resting his head back and closing his eyes. He didn't want to have these worries. He wanted them to go away, to leave him in peace.

But, of course, they wouldn't. He would have to wrestle with them, beat them back, and lock them away. He couldn't let himself worry about every little thing in his life with Will.

Will was a strong man. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself; he'd proven that time and time again. But he didn't have to be alone any more. Now, he had love in his life; Sherlock was on his side, and had his back. And the same was true for Sherlock; Will would always be there for him.

There was no reason for these worries to nip at his heels. If he and Will had any disagreements, they would work things out. And he knew that more cases would come to him.

He wouldn't have to fight boredom again, the way that he had done when he was alone. Because, simply put, wasn't alone any longer. His life was full now.

He had Will. He didn't need work to make himself feel complete. Not any longer.

Will wouldn't leave him because of his moods. And he wouldn't let himself be snappish and discontented. He had nothing to feel that way about. Not with Will by his side.

These fears were irrational, but he still had to talk to Will about them. He couldn't allow any barriers to stand in the way of their relationship. Any time he had doubts or fears, he had to talk them over with Will. That was the only way that they would be able to work through any problems.

He couldn't keep himself to himself any longer. There wasn't only himself to think about now. He had to consider Will's feelings and his needs, too.

Somehow, that thought made him feel much better. 

He had someone to look after now. Someone who depended on him -- and what was more, he had someone to lean on when he needed a shoulder.

He wasn't being dependent. He wasn't being weak. He was simply being a man in love -- and that was something to be proud of, not to fear.

Sherlock smiled, feeling that he'd managed to soothe his fears. 

He took Will's hand, hoping that they could both sleep during the long flight back to London.


	88. The Chance They Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The greatest danger to them may be past, but Will knows that there will be others in his and Sherlock's future.

The danger was past. He was safe. A whole new world had opened up to him.

Sherlock had promised him a new life, and he had delivered.

Will couldn't help smiling at the thought, propping his chin on his hand and gazing out of the window at the clear blue sky that seemed to stretch over London.

He loved it here; he loved this city, loved the area they lived in, the friends he had made. This felt like home, more than Wolf Trap ever had.

There were times when he missed the dogs he used to have, but he knew that they had gone to good homes -- and they still had Winston with them. He was sure that they would be getting another dog sometime soon; after all, he wanted Sherlock to have a dog of his own.

His life here hadn't always been easy thus far, thanks to Hannibal interfering with their happiness. But now Hannibal was gone, and there was smooth sailing ahead of them.

No, he shouldn't think that, Will told himself. Sherlock was always finding new cases; there would be something else to place them in danger again before too much longer.

Still, that was what they did, and it was a chance they took.

But there would be no danger like what they had so recently passed through. He was sure of that. Hannibal had been the greatest threat to their lives.

Will knew about the villains that Sherlock had faced off against in the past. He had been told about both Moriarty and Magnussen, and all that they had done.

Those villains had made his blood run cold, and he had been glad that he hadn't had to go up against them. But he knew that Hannibal had been right up there with them -- and even though those two had been deadly, he didn't think that they'd been as much of a threat.

Hannibal hadn't just put himself and Sherlock in danger -- he had been a menace to all of society, what with his, well, unusual predilections.

Will pushed that thought aside. It was over and done with now.

He didn't want to think about Hannibal. He didn't want to remember all of the horrible things that monster had done, not just to him, but to other innocent people.

Hannibal was a part of the past now. The danger he represented was gone, and it would never return. He and the man he loved were safe from that threat.

But there _would_ be others. He was sure of it.

How could there not be? He and Sherlock were in a dangerous profession. And they were both committed to what they did; neither of them would stop solving cases.

That was what they had been born to do. He couldn't see Sherlock existing as anything but what he was, and Will knew that he himself couldn't stop using his singular empathic gift to help people. As long as he could be of some use, he wouldn't stop. He felt obligated to do what he did.

He was sure that Sherlock felt the same. He might not be as outspoken about wanting to help others as Will was, but he knew that Sherlock had a good heart.

Whatever dangers they might find themselves in sometime in the future, he was sure that they had defeated the biggest one that could possibly come their way.

That black cloud no longer hung over his horizon.

There would be danger coming into their lives again. Will didn't doubt that for a moment. In fact, it seemed that Sherlock had a tendency to seek danger out.

Well, maybe he himself did the same thing. But it was part and parcel of what they did for a living. They had to expect some danger to come their way.

He couldn't help but smile at the thought that in the future, they would be working together. They would solve crimes as a team; they would bring more villains to justice, and they would find closure for people who needed it. That was the best they could do, even if it might not seem like much.

It was what he wanted to do, he realized. Work with Sherlock, live here in London, and build a life together. A life that would be full of love and laughter.

Yes, there might be some danger thrown into the mix, too. But he could live with that. Nothing was perfect, not even his future life with the man he loved. 

Besides, danger could be .... intoxicating, in a way.

He'd discovered that a long time ago, much to his surprise. Maybe that was why he and Sherlock both tended to run towards it, instead of in the other direction.

It was a little scary to think that they could put themselves in danger willingly, that they were the kind of people who would risk their lives for others. But that was just a part of who they were -- and if either of them was any different, then they probably wouldn't have fallen in love. 

He wouldn't want Sherlock to be any other way. He loved his boyfriend just as he was; there was nothing about the other man that he would ever want to change.

And he liked himself pretty well as he was, too.

This final acceptance of himself had been a long time in coming; Sherlock had helped him to it, and he would be forever grateful to his lover for giving him such a precious gift.

Will looked up as the front door of the flat opened, and Sherlock bounded into the room, a smile on his handsome face that seemed to light up the area around him.

"We have a case," he announced, his pale eyes sparkling with anticipation.

A case? Those very words made Will's heart beat faster.

Will sat up, his own smile mirroring Sherlock's, eager to hear what they would be doing next.


End file.
